


Of Tangled Spines

by burningferns



Series: The Beginning Of Us [1]
Category: The Last of Us (Video Games)
Genre: Age Difference, Alcohol, Anger, Angst, Bisexuality, Christmas, Christmas Decorations, Codependency, Don't Like Don't Read, Drawing, Dreams, Dreams and Nightmares, Erections, Estranged, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Family Dinners, Fear, Flashbacks, Fluff, Foreplay, Heartache, Inner Dialogue, Jackson Wyoming, Jealousy, Journaling, Kissing, Lemon, Longing, Love, Lucid Dreaming, Masturbation, Night Terrors, Oral Sex, Orgasms, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Poetry, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recreational Drug Use, Rejection, Sex Toys, Sexy Times, Slow Burn, Sort of a fix it but only the beginning really, Vaginal Fingering, Violence, of age, wet dreams
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:00:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 158,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26350813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burningferns/pseuds/burningferns
Summary: Ellie has a horrible nightmare of Joel beat to death by an unknown – a young blond woman she glimpsed at the church hall earlier that same night. The girl wakes in a fervor after and runs to see if he is still alive. He is. The course of their story is altered forever and it appears to be a whole new beginning for Joel and Ellie.Still, as the haunting night terror changes Ellie's life and as a Jackson-wide mandate gets put into effect, the young woman finds herself at a crossroads. Does she hold to past resentments or move forward into a future that's far more uncertain than either of them could imagine...
Relationships: Ellie/Joel (The Last of Us)
Series: The Beginning Of Us [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1914763
Comments: 503
Kudos: 427





	1. & Fearful Minds

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO! This is the BIG FIC! This will be a trilogy with parts I, II & III posted over ...years, most likely. I aim to write and post one chapter weekly, but if it's two weeks here and there, trust that I'll do everything I can to make it worth your while. 
> 
> Now, this is going to have a lot of AU elements to create and craft a realistic situation in a post-apocalyptic world that sees Joel and Ellie ending up together. But please note that their history up to the night before Joel's death in TLOUII will remain exactly the same, for the most part. It's just what comes after – the fact that there IS an after now. I will also embellish and expand on Ellie's feelings for him but most of that will happen gradually through a good old fashioned slow burn and many, many chapters. 
> 
> Also note that while this starts off with a "Fix-It" for TLOU2 (because ffs, the story of that game was just...no), I will take this off into a whole new direction with both familiar and unfamiliar elements. It's gonna get wild, so I hope you stick around for the entire journey. 
> 
> Sorry for the word vomit right up front, but well, writer and all. ><
> 
> As always, a few Important Reminders:  
> • Ellie is an adult and always will be in my fic | 19 years old at the start of this one.  
> • **If you do not like this pairing, do not read this | Thanks for stopping by!**
> 
> ______
> 
> AO3 is being a butt with End Notes so I need to post them up here: 
> 
> That's the start of the start! Chapter 2 will be posted next week and as the story progresses and moves farther out of canon, the chapters will likely increase in length. Like I mentioned above, this is a trilogy, a series titled: The Beginning of Us. Each part will have it's own title though, because I'm sort of a snob like that ;) 
> 
> Also! Chapter 1 was written in past tense but the story itself will be told in present – this is on purpose because 1, I feel most comfortable writing in that tense and 2, I want y'all to feel the moment to moment movements as though they were happening right in front of you. 
> 
> I moderate comments only because I know the taboo nature of this pairing isn't for everyone – but any commentary is of course appreciated, as well as all the AO3 bells and whistles. 
> 
> Until next week... xx

It was early December in Jackson and well after midnight when the young woman gasped and garbled from inside the walls of her sleeping space. She didn’t pause to look outside — she knew what awaited her there — but in this dazed fervor, facts were of little concern. 

Until they were. 

The sky dropped over three feet of snow in the last twenty-four hours and yet even after this lengthy assault, an endless blizzard raged into the thinness of nighttime. The girl cursed the storm in her usual foul-mouthed manner as she slammed a weather-beaten door behind her; an echoed _ccck_ from banged-together aged wood was instantly swallowed by the punishing freight train of a Wyoming winter as it rode onward. 

Almost immediately her body reacted as flaked, subzero-air adhered itself to the insides of her lungs; she winced as a thousand tiny knives stabbed at the rear of her throat, her labored breaths overcompensating for the uninvited frost. Whatever oxygen she could manage, she sought. But she managed, of course – she’d been in worse situations by far. 

She tried to focus as well as anyone could in dire circumstances like these, and so the girl hurried from one step to the next, feet clad in a pair of carelessly-tied boots. Her toes and heels were equal parts chilled and fervent despite the familiarity of their placement. 

It didn’t help that these same boots had been dreadfully overworked prior to this particular moment and still, they did their damned finest to hold on for her. To outlast an iced-earth long enough to carry this girl where she begged of them to take her. 

Partway to her destination, she stopped – she’d been unaware that her legs were...bare, nude, absofuckinglutely unclothed. Somehow, she managed to force a laugh in spite of everything; perhaps this was a trick played on her, _by_ her – the result of a devilish subconscious she’d been known to possess. 

People in town talk, or so she’s heard.

In any case, Ellie was far more frightened from the deeply-seated horror of her psyche than anything the winter attempted to lay waste to. 

Her bones were rattled and mind flayed by a nightmare that felt realer than real. Real enough that the taste of iron and sin laid heavily on her tongue, so real that her eyes stung from a swarm of unshed, boiling tears. Ellie’s skin hurt, not from the kiss of frost but from the feral clutch of the River Styx. It had felt close, it had all felt much _too_ close. 

As she resumed her trek and pushed aside fear and its weighted cost, Ellie blindly topped mounted snowdrifts – and other abandoned piles of shoveled white; her threadbare flannel shirt kept to her only by her petite calloused hands that held tight to the battered thing. The oversized — man-sized — shirt was her favorite of all favorites but it had done nothing in the way of warmth against such spiteful elements. 

Instead, it fought desperately to shroud her upper half; the ends were frayed by age and billowed out by penetrating winds the harder she ran on. A few buttons popped and were summarily ignored and forgotten beneath the crunch of her soles – there was little time to pay attention to details like that. Rather, Ellie was being ceremoniously pummeled by the darkness in her head and the fist of a cruel storm that wouldn’t quit. 

She adjusted her train of thought — or attempted to — onto the sad, but beloved, garment that whipped across her pale form. It was _his_ , a red-checkered “sad lil’ thang,” he once called it, and Ellie couldn’t hold the flood of emotion that crashed into her; she choked on a sob, thoughts no longer on the present but rather on whether or not _she_ had been the sad lil’ thang all along. 

Tears would offer her no favors however, so she pushed forward, her naked legs all but completely numbed, despite the adrenaline that coursed in her veins. It wasn’t a far walk to his front door, not a minute at most in “normal” conditions, but tonight was anything _but_ normal. 

The winter whiteout, her horrifying nightmare, a lapse in judgement with clothing...

But at last, she made it to the entranceway and...promptly halted. 

Ellie stood motionless, suspended by more than just Mother Nature now. Her right hand shook with a sudden bout of tremors as it hovered above the doorknob; two green eyes shut as his echoed screams of pain and cries for help – cries for _her_ – cut through whatever calm she came here in search of. 

_“No, nononono…”_ she begged in silence to and for herself, a colossal effort contrived to put some of this unwelcomed dread back into its rightful box. Into the dream box that meant it wasn’t _really_ real. He wasn’t in that basement, wasn’t…

Ellie needed to know for sure, needed to see him with her own eyes. To hold him and feel his warmth bleed into her every pore. To breathe in that distinct Joel scent of wood oil and leather and listen to his heart and feel the scratch of his beard on her forehead, her throat, her cheek. 

She craned her neck, heard a crack from somewhere in the architecture of her spine and turned the handle over. Ellie didn’t know what she would find but she hoped against hope it wouldn’t be emptiness. The girl knew she could fare with almost anything, save for emptiness. 

In she went, the door quietly closed and latched behind her. She was frozen, her limbs, lips and skin ashen with a blue tint that would worry her at any other time but the present. 

Up the stairs she ambled, her steps hushed and calculated; long ago she had memorized which boards creaked and those that were solid and sound. She hadn’t wanted to startle him awake; he should be asleep, should be laid on his side, an arm under his pillow, beneath that perfectly intact head of his. Should be snoring softly, his lips parted ever-so. Peaceful. 

Ellie remembered all those nights they spent beside one another, her memory not limited to the wooden staircase in Joel’s house but rather to everything-Joel. 

As she made her way up, a glow of amber washed onto the topmost steps and railing – he must be up, she surmised. Joel never had a hard time falling asleep, it was staying asleep that was the difficult part for him. She knew that, too. Had done her best to help him once she realized that’s what it was and towards the end of their journey – before Jackson – she had succeeded for the most part. 

All it took was her hand pressed to his heart. He would sleep on and on, sometimes so much that she needed to rouse him in the morning and he’d curse at himself for the burned daylight. Ellie never minded the loss of day, not really. It had meant a gain of him, and that was more to her. Back then it was, anyway. 

After she rounded the bannister, she paused, again, only this time right outside of his woodcrafting room. The door was partially open and music filtered into the hallway; country – Crosby, Stills & Nash by the sounds of it. He loved their albums and oftentimes found himself playing a song here and there at church hall festivals and the like. 

No matter how angry and resentful she’d been towards him these past two years, she always did love listening to Joel sing and strum his six-string. 

She waited there, listened as he hummed a little, sang a little, hummed some more and Ellie just...cried. She clutched her chest and gripped to her shivered self and his shirt and all they had between them for dear life. He was alive. He was alive and singing and in his creature comforts. Not beaten, bloodied, skull crushed, leg blown half to hell on a floor in the middle of nowhere. 

Not gone not gone _not gone._ Joel was alive. 

She sniffled, hard, but what she had seen and heard wasn’t enough yet. She still longed for that physical element. Needed him to carry her the rest of the way from the nightmare to home, to the place they both shared time and space in. 

At the doorway, her face stricken with tears and a dribble of clear snot pooled on her upper lip, she released the grasp she had to her torso and pushed into his reverie. 

“J- _Joel?”_ It came as a whisper – a strangled wisp of a sound that had been barely above any discernible levels. 

But he heard it. 

He turned in his chair, the black hair on his arms dusted with wood shavings, fingers busied with a carving tool and a block of spruce that was being shaped into something beautiful. 

“...Ellie?” He haphazardly laid his creation and instrument off to the side somewhere, all the while their eye contact remained unbroken. His brow was furrowed, eyes focused and alight – there was fear in those familiar hazels, of that she was certain. But of course there would be.

He’d risen up, looked around and beyond the girl nervously, then worriedly, and finally protectively. “Are you...are you okay?” 

She rushed towards him, her body desperate and afraid that even this scene would prove to be a farce, just another night terror to rip her at the seams the second her eyes split open to a Joel-less world. 

Ellie jumped into his hold, her arms interlocked behind his neck, her legs pretzeled and looped around his middle. She clung to this man, her body forcing every bit of air and space and the years spent estranged as far from them as she could in one breathless embrace. 

He was unclothed from the waist up, his lower half dressed in a pair of old sweatpants – his wood carving pants, she’d heard him mumble at some point in the distant past. And right now, the girl was thankful for those ancient, patched hobby-pants. It resulted in him being half naked – the opposite parts of him exposed to that of hers – and thus left more for her to _feel._

Joel was _alive._ It had been a dream. A fucking fever dream. Nothing more. 

“Baby, what’s....did someone hurt you? Talk to me…” he whispered into her hair, his arms molded to her shivering, shaken frame. 

She reveled in the weight and presence of his arms as they enveloped her; they were strong like solid oak, thick and purposeful and deadly and _his_ and forever hers. After she neglected to answer him with words – she nodded a few times to indicate that at the very least she was still in one piece and had come to no harm – he finally eased them onto his chair. 

The girl settled down onto his lap. She wiggled to fit to his form, reconnected her ankles to one another at the rear of his back and buried her head into the side of his. She breathed and breathed and breathed him in. Inhaled, exhaled, inhaled, exhaled. He was here. 

“You’re scarin’ me, girl. You’ve got barely nothin’ on with that shit blizzard outside and I reckon you came here that way. Did somethin’ happen? What’s got you so riled?” His voice was brimming with fear and urgency; she knew she’d have to talk at some point but now that she was with him, that he was in her arms, against her, she felt ashamed to admit that it’d all been...a nightmare. 

She wasn’t a kid anymore and yet, she’d run to the only safe harbor Ellie's ever known. Him. 

The girl pulled away, her face felled by an embarrassment that painted her cheeks a fiery shade of red; she knew if she met those concerned hazels and stern features, she’d crack wide open. She was afraid she’d never stop cracking. 

Which was exactly what he expected and was waiting on, she knew. 

Not able to withstand the silence anymore, Joel released an arm and used its hand to tilt her head, effectively leveling their eyes, “Talk, Ellie.” A command, not a request. 

She found her voice, “Can...we just go to bed? To...to your bed? I promise I’ll tell you in the morning, I just–I can’t be away fr-from you tonight. I need to...Is that okay?” 

Joel’s chest caved inwards, his lungs deflated — not from defeat but rather relief. An absence of a trouble that seemed so vivid on their horizon had been, for the most part, removed from whatever equation this was. He knew she was physically unharmed and it’d have to be enough for him. For the time being. 

“Mmhm. C’mon.” 

He hadn’t made to place her down but instead stood, lifted the girl, adjusted her weight against his, switched his workbench light off and walked them slowly into his bedroom. The space was warmed for sleep and the bed was half-made; Ellie chuffed at the thought that, of course, he had been asleep but hadn’t managed to stay asleep. 

The shock of that truth – that he’s maybe not slept a full spell in nearly two years – cut at her oppressively. Shame and regret returned tenfold, the waves of each flooding in such quick succession that the young woman all but gasped as he set her down onto his mattress.

“I’m...sorry, Joel.” 

“Now I don’ know what’s what, Ellie, but what I do know is that you ain’ got a thing to be apologizin’ to me for, alright?” 

She bobbed her head, closed her eyes and dug her nails into the edge of his bed, her knuckles gone white from exertion and exhaustive force. Joel didn’t think twice before he rubbed his palms and fingers onto hers, in an attempt to loosen that death-grip and help her relax. “I’ve got you, okay? You’re safe. Whatever it was, ain’ nothin’ gonna hurt you here, girl.” 

The tension in her harrowed arms released at that; Ellie opened her eyes, finally, and Joel was there, knelt before her. He would wait there forever for her, if she needed or asked him to. And suddenly her throat hitched at the thought of that, at the sight of him – the permanence of Joel Miller was ethereal. And there, there etched onto his beautiful weathered face was something like love and adoration and worry for her. Always for her. 

“Lay with me?”

He licked a length of his bottom lip as he considered her request, then nodded and climbed into bed, sliding in behind her. Joel spooned Ellie, his left arm laid protectively atop her middle, albeit loosely. It didn’t take a minute before the older man felt a tremor tear through the girl in his arms and so he did what he could do, what he knew she wanted but wouldn’t utter aloud: he brought her closer. 

Joel pulled the frightened girl to his chest, his mouth pressed gently to a partially bare shoulder as their lower limbs intertwined underneath a thick duvet. From there, he adjusted his position to anchor more of her to him; he slid the rough part of his palm into the arch between her hip and her ribcage and gripped just tight enough, his other hand eased beneath a pillow to come around and enfold Ellie’s searching fingers. 

She sighed as they laced their fingers together in complete silence; he’d always been able to read her so well, knew what she craved but could never find the words to say. Ellie tried to work at steadying her erratic heartbeat, to let herself fall into his familiarity, to fall into him and succumb. Everything was alright. It would all be alright now. 

As she started to ease into a calmer state, it occurred to her that the way of this togetherness, here in his room, was never how it had been on the road four years ago. Joel had been prickly about that. His back to hers or her front to his back – those were the rules. 

But this. This felt nice, natural and good. He was _almost_ as close as he could be to her and it was both life-giving and life-altering. She felt a small spark as it ignited in her belly, a shift, a something-new she dared not name or examine. Not tonight. 

He carried her home, like she knew he would. The spark could wait. 

An exhale of heated air pushed from his slightly-parted lips before, “Goodnight, baby.” 

Tomorrow she will share the nightmare. Share the cursed dream that saw a young, blond woman brought into their fold. One that destroyed Joel and warped all that Ellie was. Tell him of this phantom killer that had taken all she’d forgotten meant the utmost to her. 

But for the remainder of _this_ night, Ellie slept soundly. Safe and loved. 

“Goodnight, Joel.”


	2. & Dissociative Wickedness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning of. Joel and Ellie wake up together and she shares what happened. Tells what it was that drove her to run through a blizzard in the middle of the night and straight into his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First: WOW!!! The response to this has been phenomenal – thank you for the bells & whistles!! Never expected that! It really motivates and keeps me accountable and I definitely need that in the craziness that is 2020. 
> 
> Second: This took a little longer than I meant and I'm grateful for your patience! Again, this story is going to be a MASSIVE slow burn but it WILL earn all its tags and then-some. I assure you. 
> 
> Third: If there's an abundance of purple prose, blame my obsession with all things Joel Miller and wanting to get it right from the get go. Yeah, it's definitely his fault.. ;) 
> 
> As always, a few Important Reminders:  
> • Ellie is an adult  
> • If you do not like this pairing, do not read this | Thanks for stopping by!

Ellie’s eyes slit open to see Joel’s bedside table level with her line of sight. There’s a colorful book with _something-something Space_ written on its cover and a pair of reading glasses nearby. The lenses appear cloudy, with scratches and imperfections aplenty. But before Ellie muses on what Joel might look like wearing his “readers,” a sleepy smile spreads on her face; her heart warms to know that he’s learning more of _that_ subject on his own — for her, no doubt. 

Instinctively her grasp tightens on the languid hand that’s still in hers; his arm must be all but dead weight as it sits in the crook of her neck and yet he’s not moved since settling, like this, a few hours ago. Her heart warms again. 

The girl burrows deeper into him and curls deeper into herself as her emeralds close away the big bad echoes of _the dream_ that doesn’t belong. 

She didn’t burrow fast enough: The terror of that word – _dead_ – takes a swing and almost renders Ellie powerless. In the chasm that cracks wide apart after, the nightmare rushes in, drowning her in splashes of red and an acrid smell of metal. Every second that passes suspends itself as those cursed images linger in the air; it’s heavy, its weight so punishing that Ellie buckles under the pressure. It pulls and pushes her down, beckons her to relive and accept, but then...she stops. 

Ellie stills and steals herself; she knows what she needs to do. 

The girl eases her lithe body around, mindful not to wake Joel; he’s likely slept soundly in the handful of hours they’ve spent side by side tonight, but he could always use more. Deserves more. It saddens Ellie to think that he will probably spend the rest of his life trying to chase a restful, ever-elusive, slumber. 

Her movement takes no time and then Ellie’s front is a few inches shy of Joel’s bare chest; as she settles, the girl keeps his left arm just where it’s been all night – flush to her midsection – and it comes to her: the press and heat of his limb, of his bulk and scarred skin feels... _right_. Thinks of how _he_ feels right. 

The warmth begins to spread out from her center — pouring into her extremities one heartbeat at a time. 

Ellie braids her lower limbs with his as she studies his sleep-laden features up close. She flattens her hands to Joel’s breastbone lazily, her palms flush with the gray and dark hair that grows in abundance there. She discovers that it both fits him perfectly _and_ stirs at the unnamed entity living inside the cavern of her deepest self. 

Again, she dares not examine it. Not yet, anyway. 

The woman looks on from there, her eyes lips and nose mere inches from his as she leverages her upper half and...she sees how he’s changed – how he’s aged – in the two or so years she’s been, for the better part, absent from his day to day. 

His beard is thicker with far more white and gray than before, with his hair longer and matching in a similar pattern of color, too. There’s more wrinkles to that weathered face (she’s seen those in passing now and then) but he’s relaxed and so those are hidden by the softness of sleep. 

She remembers how stern and hardset his features were in those first few weeks...months...they traveled together. Joel never let himself off the hook, never lowered his guard, even in sleep. But here is not there and as Ellie contemplates all the outward ways he’s been changing, she sees beyond to the semi-peaceful man in her embrace. 

Or maybe it’s that she’s with him. Maybe a small hand pressed to his heart all those years ago provided enough sustenance for an okay-night's rest. But maybe it was only the tip of his iceberg. Maybe he didn’t believe he deserved more. Maybe he still doesn't.

Ellie idly wonders if he _does_ deserve more, too.

In this sacred palace of past and present, her mind thumbs over dusty memories, tiresome days and endless roads like it’s all a row of abandoned books. 

Walking, walking, making camp. Laundry, supply and ammo checks, food, food, food. He was always so quiet at first, barely any eye contact and almost no talking – well, save for her and those pun books she adores to this very day. Ellie snorts as she pictures just how far those hazels can roll into his head; Joel’s exasperation for her was evident but went only as deep as a puddle. She knows now (as she suspected then) that those gruff protestations were nothing more than a ruse. 

He was never worse for the wear after a single one of those silly jokes. Or her, for the most part. That first winter there was an exception, of course. And well, other things she can’t seem to place in the midst of this cozy remembrance. 

She curls her fingertips in to feel him and smiles at the affection that blooms in her belly.

At Ellie’s feathering touch, Joel exhales a low rumble and somehow manages to bring her body nearer; his right arm adjusts and wraps at the apex of her spine, his hand engulfing her petite shoulder in its expansive grasp. The heat of his protectiveness seeps through her _his_ flannel in steady, soothing waves and Ellie shivers at this, shivers at the gravelly sound he let slip. She’s close to whimpering as that unknowable spark continues to rise higher to the surface. It begs to be acknowledged, to be understood but she wants to remain...blissfully ignorant.

Despite the rising tides of this...elsewhere, the young woman enjoys that this togetherness is part of what his subconscious craves – like hers. Admittedly it’s far different to the norms of their past, and yet, this type of familiarity tempers her all the same. Like he always did. 

Ellie ruminates that this is what intimacy must be, to hold and be held completely – to be close and to need that closeness much like the air in their lungs. With just one person. With their only person. 

The girl runs a hand gently through Joel’s unkempt hair; she doesn’t weigh her actions, doesn’t want to, only longs to reset his presence as something solid and wholesome in the halls of her mind. Something akin to what he once was to her. Like he was _because_ of her. 

A breaking man’s voice cries for help — cries her name. The screams tear through her again and again. She shakes in his arms. 

When will this stop?

_’No. No. He’s alive, he’s alive.’_

Ellie clamps her emeralds as the rising din of the nightmare threatens to circle back; it’s a feeble effort meant to expel the horror that’s haunting, despite its devilishness and false existence. It isn’t real but the fear is palpable to a degree that makes it hard to tell what is heads or tails. But the longer she tethers herself to Joel, the easier it is to believe that those awful things that supposedly happened...didn’t actually happen. 

Left to wade its feral wake, she instead immerses herself into what saves her, and for Ellie, that’s Joel Miller. 

The man in her arms. He’s so well known to her in many ways and yet, a puzzle, too.

She realizes she wants to piece things together while she can. While she’s still rearing up against the shattering of bones, longing to lay it all to rest. 

The girl knows what to do.

Her advances are aimless at first but she roams with purposeful intent; her callouses graze through a mess of his thick hair, then down his scalp and over the soft spot of his temple. She chances a touch to the peak and bottom of his ear where she pauses, spends a moment to trace a scar that lives on the lobe there. It’s an old one, undoubtedly from a history Joel protects and jails to his heart like it’s his religion. 

Ellie resumes the journey after that brief respite and meanders to a bushy eyebrow, then his eyelashes, his nose, his cheeks; Joel’s skin feels warm despite the heavy drifts of snow surrounding their room-cocoon. She keeps touching, feeling his hair both coarse and plentiful and checking time and again that his skull isn’t misshapen or beat to an unrecognizable pulp. A breath hitches as a lump grows in her throat; suddenly she’s being hoisted by the neck and thrust into murky pools of blood as her wails and pleas for mercy are drowned away. 

Fiercely she reacts and strangles the siren that sings for her utmost. _Again._

 _‘No, no, he’s here in my arms. He’s right here. And he’s good.’_ Ellie battles viciously and without remorse and does all this in total silence; her pulse increases as her veins flood and bang with the spill of urgency by what would be her greatest loss but…she’s unafraid now. 

For unlike last night when the deliverance of her reality remained uncertain, Ellie knows she can, and will, rise above and conquer this abhorrent ghost. 

And so she does. 

Loosely she cups his chin, holds her eyes on him and lowers a palm to his heart. The _thump-thump_ is steady and even – it’s her most favorite thing in this Godfucked of a world and she accepts – no matter what comes – that she will never take it, or him, for granted. Not ever again. 

She begins to feel at peace by this, but this young woman knows that such a hellish reverie won’t fully be laid to repose until she shares the details with him. Until she speaks it aloud. 

But until that happens, Ellie is content to just… _feel_ Joel. 

She leans in closer to the rugged physicality of him but takes note of the solace that these explorations have already given. They’re grounding and reassuring in tandem – so much that even his expression appears a bit more at ease now than prior to her pawing at him. 

Ellie knows it won’t last though; Joel is a heavy sleeper (once he’s good and asleep) but not so much that this voyage can go on for any substantial measure of time. 

Still, the girl persists and dances her fingertips through his beard; somewhere far inside, she _wants_ to rouse him with these unfamiliar affections, wants him to join her in this waking space of theirs, to see those hazels and hear that voice. So she presses and rakes her nails against the wiry hair, tugs a little on the lengthier parts and repeats the process a few times. 

Eventually, the young woman brushes a knuckle across Joel’s slightly-parted mouth and unexpectedly gasps as she does this. It isn’t until this very second that Ellie realizes his lips are...full and sort of voluptuous. She tries to stifle a giggle but makes the mistake of being just a decibel too loud with it; the sound, of course, sees Joel opening two heavy-lidded eyes and, “Somethin’ funny ‘bout my face, girl?” 

Ellie hides and sinks against his chest; she’s too embarrassed to make eye contact but knows the shy game won’t placate his curiosity whatsoever. 

“No,” she mumbles between her hands, unable to drag herself out of the pit of shame yet. 

“Have out with it. Woke to you touchin’ my face and laughin’ like a loon. Am I that ugly?” His voice is like gravel and his chest feels like thunder as he speaks. Ellie thinks it might be the most beautiful thing she’s ever felt _and_ heard. 

Two deadly serious eyes fly to his and she shakes her head, “No, stop that. Don’t be ridiculous, Joel. I just...I guess after last night I just wanted to–I don’t know, fff-feel you?” 

One of his eyebrows ticks up questioningly and once again Ellie suspects she’s gone tomato-red from the foot she’s jammed into her mouth. 

“I mean...I–you–we...” 

Joel laughs – actually laughs – as he puts her out of her misery and rolls onto his spine, partially detaching from her. It’s just enough that she doesn’t have to stare at his ...parts and it allows her to breathe and recenter. Regardless that there’s a newfound surprise at how she misses being so close to him already.

“I mean with what happened last night. Thanks for...letting me be here with you. For, I don’t know, giving me time.” 

Joel’s hand – the one not underneath her – it situates on his firm belly as he looks at her. There’s patience there but even with that, he sighs, “You gonna tell me ‘bout it?” 

Ellie shifts and goes flat on her belly, employs both elbows to angle herself so that she’s sort of gazing down and off to the side at him. The grapefruit-sized mass reforms in her throat as she struggles to get through this next bit. But she did promise that she would share what riled her up all those hours ago and so, here she is. Sharing.

“You’re gonna think I really am a loon, Joel. But...I had a nightmare. Well, a fucking night terror, really. Hard to explain it but – I’ve never experienced something so fucking...vivid. It was–you were–” Ellie stops as her lips quiver and her jaw flexes. Saying it out loud feels as though the murder will actually come to life and it leaves her woefully helpless as to how to get through this. 

_‘He’s alive. It wasn’t real. Speak it out loud and it’ll go away, just say the fucking words.’_

“Take your time. I ain’t going nowhere.” He offers her a side-smile as he puts one of his arms behind his head to prop himself up.

That does it. The dams break, the levees shatter and Ellie crashes ashore with all her broken-hearted ramblings: “There was ...a girl. Um, maybe a little older than me but yeah she, she was being chased by a pack of clickers and runners and ya know, those infected fuckers, and you and Tommy were on patrol and found her–saved her. It was a blizzard like the one outside right now, too. Which also fucked with my head when I woke up, by the way, because I couldn’t tell what was real and what was the dream. But this blond girl–I recognized her from the church hall last night but I don’t remember her name. No, wait, it was...Gabby or Abby or something like that, I didn’t talk to her. But she–you saved her fucking life but she ended up turning on you in this big mountain mansion. Reminded me of the Baldwin Mansion up north a ways. Anyway, she had a crew of people and they knocked Tommy out first, then that asshole…Gabby or Abby, whatever, blew one of your legs halfway to hell and she...she fucking beat you to death in front of me– _because I showed up at some point_ –with a goddamn golf club, Joel. I was–we couldn’t even say goodbye because your h-head, it was–you were and I–” 

Ellie sobs and the words are lost not even partway through the retelling – she wants to continue, wants to get to the why of it all. But her heart breaks at the recollection – explodes at a near-loss that is so real she can taste the rust on her tongue even now. 

Joel angles onto his side – even though he figures she’s no closer to the end of the story than its beginning – and rubs her upper back gently, soothingly. He tilts in and, “Oh, baby, it wasn’t real.” He whispers the words almost directly into an ear, pets her hair and moves it away from tear-streaked cheeks so he can get to more of her. 

She sniffs, sucks in a glob of clear snot and lets him bear her weight for a moment before, “I’ve never...that’s never happened to me before, Joel. There’s so much more to that fucking nightmare but I mean, I remember touching you after you...were g-gone. I remember coming back to this exact fucking room and taking your watch to keep it because Tommy..or maybe Maria, no it was definitely Tommy...put it in a shoebox for me – a fucking _shoe_ box. It was in there along with your revolver and that blue loopy scarf you wear which had blood stains all over it and then I wandered your empty house and I smelled your jacke–” Once more she ends in the middle as hot tears sting the edges of her eyes, her air coming in heaves and spurts. 

Ellie doesn’t like to cry as a general rule of thumb but with Joel? No way. Crying is not something she feels at ease doing, especially if there are others around. It’s not that she views it as an exposed weakness but rather it’s the vulnerability of the act itself where her hesitance lies. 

Although with things as they are, the younger woman supposes none of that pomp matters anymore. Not after a night spent in each other's arms. Which, even thinking of that, as fresh as it is, already brings a measure of wholeness she can’t quite define. 

In the silence, Ellie tries to absorb the calm that’s coming off of Joel; her body’s response to his open tactility is a clear sign that she’s yearning for more. He gives it unquestioningly: An arm slides across and over her back, while his lower half is set off to the side of her hips. A portion of his chest leans on her person, too, but he’s careful with his weight; she’s such a little thing in comparison that he doesn’t want to smother her while trying to get the girl to relax. Isn’t sure if he should be _too_ physical with her, either. 

She cries into his pillow, her shoulders pitching forward into the mattress by tremors she can’t quite get a handle on. He just lets her go on, knows that this display is rarer than rare but whatever she needs to work through this, he is there for it. 

Ellie grips the fabric fervently and tears tiny half-moons into the gray linen, “Your fucking _watch_ , Joel. I...I held in my hand, I slept with it every night, even tried to cut my fingertip on the broken glass to feel something other than dead inside. To focus on something else other than the sounds of your screams and your skull being crushed. That sound won’t ever leave me, ya know? Real or not. I close my eyes and see it, hear and smell it for fucks sake. I–I watched it happen and they fucking SPIT on you after it all, they cursed at you and I couldn’t do a fucking thing–I was weak and caught off guard even though I KNEW I _knew_ I should have found a side entrance but the pain they were putting you through sounded so–Fuck, I was blind, impatient. I was...I regretted so much. I regretted everything. And you–you opened your eyes when you heard me yell for you to get up, Joel. Somehow you knew it was me there, I don’t fucking know how but you knew and they say that about people, I guess, don’t they? That when folks are about to–that they still know when their people are there, right? I don’t know, I prayed you did, prayed I didn’t make it worse and I hated God so much and I swore I would end every single one of those fucking bastards for taking you from me. I swore to Tommy, to Dina, to fucking everyone. I just...if you ever leave me–I know what’ll happen now and I can’t– _Joel…”_

Joel rests his forehead at the nape of Ellie’s neck, closes his eyes and inhales her panic; he wishes he could take it all from her, to bear the burden of this lucid event so that she doesn’t have to. He shushes her in a calming manner and whispers instead – it’s all he can do. “I’ve got you, baby, I’ve got you.” 

On any other day he would give anything to be in her heart again – not physically attached as this certainly wasn’t their norm, although he wasn’t hard-pressed to break away either, which was something he’ll grapple with later – but _this._

This is...he understands why she was so crazed and overwhelmed last night. Joel knows that he would share the same state of mind had the nightmare come to visit him instead of her. Though whether or not she would be his source of comfort in such a desperate bout is a thought he immediately purges from his brain. Now’s not the time to be a selfish shit. 

“Ellie, I’m still with you. None’a that happened. Breathe for me, girl. I need for you to breathe,” he pleads as his fingers draw imperfect circles atop her shoulders. Pleads as his hands squeeze here and there, grounding her to his safe harbor. Pleads as his lips come so _close_ to brushing the exposed skin near a mess of pretty red hair. 

At the last, Joel surfaces and checks in with himself as the wave of emotion comes dangerously close to cresting; he pulls apart and slows his touch, resting his hand against the small of her back for safe keeping. This is _Ellie…_

_‘I can’t–what in the hell just came over me?’_

“I know, Joel. But you get why I was out of my fucking head, right?” The voice is muffled and low but not mad or full of disgust. 

_‘None the wiser to what I’d nearly done.’_

She peels her cheeks off the soaking pillowcase and shifts to look back at the man that’s sort of behind her, “I needed to know you were...alive. And when I saw you, I don’t know, it-it was enough but it wasn’t enough?” 

Joel nods but is now uncertain as to whether he should say what’s on his heart or just let her continue. He almost always gives Ellie the room to ramble on whenever she gets going but this is all so different. Their dynamic is...different. Things changed in the two years they’ve been estranged and so how to proceed feels like an enormous question mark hovering above him.

She goes quiet and he understands it to mean that she’s waiting on him to say something, say anything. In the past he would have simply ignored her sometimes, or thrown out a grumble to placate and quiet her down – he hates himself for that crude behavior more than he should, but that was then. It’s been a long journey and a lot of years since he was a cold prick and she was a constant pain in his ass. 

“Was bein’ here-,” Joel gestures to the bed and himself, “-enough?” 

Ellie shifts, flips herself from prone to supine and as she does this, there’s no consideration for the position she’s put them in; she only knows that she needs to see him face to face as she mulls his question over. Needs to reabsorb the intimacy of this space and his presence. She leads with her gut, with instinct and determination. Acts on her survival skills and plugs a hole that drip-drops blood but is, mercifully, no longer gushing. 

He taught her that. 

Joel anchors his arms on either side of those petite shoulders; she’s _halfway_ beneath him, laying on her back, and intentionally keeping his bulk off of hers. He also becomes acutely aware of his lack of clothing from the waist up and that they’re poised in a way they’ve never before been. 

_‘Shouldn’t be like this. Or, least I don’t reckon I should…”_

After considering his words for a long while, “Mmhm, it was. It is. For now, anyway. I mean, I won’t ever forget it. Can’t unsee that...trauma.” She furrows her brow line before, “Don’t be surprised if I break into your house all hours of the night going forward, is all I’m saying. Just a Joel Miller proof of life sort of thing. No biggie.” 

A smile cracks across Joel’s pensive features and it releases some tension that’s built in the harrowing echoes of her vivid dreamscape. 

Still, there’s a pink elephant in the room and he wrestles with whether or not he should be the one to try and call on it or just let it...be. 

He decides he wants to open this dialogue between them again. He’s missed her for so long, has been empty for months – years – and realizes, somewhere deep in the chaos of these last six or so hours that it’s come down to now or never. 

He recounts their terse, stiff conversation from last night on his porch and, “Ellie, I–I can’t help but wonder at the timin’ of this-” 

Before he’s able to finish the sentence, sharp knocks bang against the hardwood front door. Joel curses inwardly, sighs outwardly and lets his head drop in resignation. Ellie snorts at the poor timing as she reaches for the hair that’s fallen in the crook of her neck. She instinctively weaves her digits into the softness of it and tugs just-so, same as she did when he was asleep. Or, when she _thought_ he was asleep.

His eyesight cast south, his forehead damn near resting on her collarbone, Joel sucks in a hiss of air; he didn’t plan for this and feels awkward, no, not awkward. He feels afraid to look up too quickly as he doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable. Afraid to make Ellie think he’s glimpsing more than he’s supposed to. Because he is. 

Joel sees that her flannel is split down the middle of her chest, sees that there’s a few buttons missing and crude patchwork here and there but that’s not what grabs his undivided. It’s that she’s naked beneath his old shirt. And there’s a constellation of freckles between her– _’No, dammit. This ain’t right.’_

His cloudy eyes rise but the man doesn’t react beyond that, simply watches for a spell as he sets his mind straight. Joel knows what he’s thinking is wrong – he can’t...he shouldn’t have seen – but this whole night and their morning has been...upside down. Even as he muses he notices how content Ellie is as she teases his mess of black and gray. It’s like she’s up in space again, with Apollo and all her stars. She’s up there but she’s here, too, tracing his ears, padding the sides of his floppy bed-hair only to go around and orbit again. 

She even pays extra attention to the short, albeit longer, hair at the bottom of his skull and grins up at him as she does this; it’s as if her body is trying to form a link to his so much that the thought of him leaving to answer his caller causes her to react this way. 

But there’s so much unsaid, so much to work through that these touches and his confusing thoughts, though not all unwelcome, are...offsetting. 

The emotional range _this girl_ is eliciting is both foreign and unfamiliar to Joel, and though he desperately does not want her to stop – though she should – he swallows and says, “Tommy.” 

“What?” The name rips her from the serene reverie and Joel could cringe at himself. After that hell of a dream, the last thing he wants to do is startle her. And yet. 

“Tommy’s at the door. We have a shift today. Teton Valley.” 

“Please don’t leave, Joel.” There’s that fear. It returns tenfold and Ellie fills to the brim with a flash of fright, her eyes as wide as he’s ever seen them. Her hands pulling and gripping around his neck.

“I gotta answer ‘im or _he_ won’t leave. ‘S’alright, Ellie.” 

“Stay home today? Please. _Please?_ Make me breakfast? And lunch and dinner. We–I–” She stumbles at the barrage of words that come flooding all at once. Every syllable damn near screams to how badly she’s begging him to stay. Not out there. Not in the cold. Not vulnerable. 

“Okay, okay. But I gotta tell that boy to get. And to find someone to take my slot. Stay put, yeah? I’ll be right back.” 

Ellie nods and watches as Joel springs out of the bed like a man a quarter his age might. He’s still in those gray sweats and nothing else and it reminds her: the poor choice of clothing, or lack thereof rather, could have been utterly disastrous. In more ways than that bitch of a snowstorm.

Lifting the duvet, Ellie takes stock of her partially-buttoned red flannel and the faded black panties clinging to her bottom. And...nothing else. At some point from the garage to his house, she removed her boots but Ellie can’t pick the useless memory out and figures she doesn’t care enough to. 

_’Collateral Bootage.’_

It’s after this speedy bout of self-berating that the men's voices carry to where she is; they’re both muffled and direct – Tommy’s probably annoyed and Joel, well, Joel is just...Joel. He’ll tell Tommy he owes him one but if the younger Miller keeps pressing, the bigger sibling will tell him exactly where to stick it. Besides, Joel never misses shifts or takes days off. Everyone knows that – Ellie’s always known it. 

After a few more minutes of inaudible man-sounds, one of Joel’s windows creaks as air circulates in the house; with his front door and the cold shut out once again, he’s trekking back to her two steps at a time. Not walking like a man his age typically would, but jogging. More tells of his incredible stamina. 

Joel prefers to keep moving, or that’s what he always told her during their cross-country journey whenever she begged to sleep in some mornings. It’s just his way. 

She smiles and ponders the days that feel so far from them now. Finds she misses them – when it was _just_ them. 

“We owe Tommy a double shift next week because apparently _you_ had patrol today, too. With...Dina, I think? He wasn’t too clear ‘bout that. Oh, an’ there’s a town wide meeting scheduled for Thursday we gotta be at.” Joel slips into silence and pats his bare belly as he looks to her curiously. He’s trying to get back to the topic before something, or someone, interrupts him again. It seems to, for the most part, work this time. 

Ellie grits her teeth as Dina and their kiss and that whole bigot issue with Seth unseats the nightmare and forces her focus elsewhere. And then, of course, she remembers Joel’s humiliation in front of everyone – she being the source of said humiliation – and the...difficult conversation they shared on the deck afterwards. 

Every scene in her visual rolodex runs like it’s over a thousand years old, right up until that night terror kicked its way in and spat out a different version of her. 

Or...did it? Is she the same Ellie? 

As she flips through the events at a lightning-fast speed, she wonders what and why and how all of this has come to be. They’re only half a dozen or so hours out from that cumbersome talk and yet, it feels like a lifetime. She’s forgotten the animosity so quickly because of a stranger named Abby, who killed Joel, in a dream. 

That is everything that’s _actually_ come about. It sobers and jettisons Ellie back to earth, back to the place where they have so much uneven ground that’s settled between them. 

The girl sits up in bed and draws the blanket to her torso protectively; her eyes are downcast and sad as her heart begins to tear anew. Nothing’s wholly fixed, but she _is_ overwhelmingly grateful that Joel’s alive – that’s true. The nightmare-scape was just that and nothing more. It’s also true that he was there for her, both comforting and reassuring right on through to the morning. To right now even. 

Still, there are miles to go and leagues to dive and endless wounds to mend when it comes to this man and their relationship to one another. In the dissociative wickedness that came to visit her, Ellie temporarily misplaced Joel’s lies, the Fireflies and the utter heartbreak and betrayal of it all. 

It returns to her, given back like a gift she never wanted in the first place. Still, she meant the things she said to him. Both outside and in the time they’ve spent here. 

“Right. Dina.” 

“You wanna talk about it?” Joel eases himself onto the mattress next to her, his eyes peeking at the girl through weary lashes. He fusses with his hands, collapsing each one into itself; he feels like he’s losing purchase after only, in some way, getting her back. He can’t – he won’t lose her again. 

“No...not yet or ever, maybe. I don’t know? I think it’s a deadend with Dina because of her relationship with Jesse and my heart feels a little bruised after, ya know, everything at the church hall and then our talk and then the fucking dream. I mean, yeah, I like her, but listen, Joel-” She breaks, leans forward into him, “I told you last night I would try. I meant it. So…” she clears her throat and smacks at her tacky, tear-stained face before, “How about breakfast now and a movie later tonight? Just us?” 

Joel exhales and brings his chin down onto his chest; his throat tightens and his lips shake a beat before, “I’d like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's chapter 2! There's a lot of FEELINGS in this and even more left unsaid, but we can't have it all right from the get go, right? Right. 
> 
> Future chapters will have more intimacy like this, albeit in different ways AND with more characters entering soon, too. Things are gonna get hella complicated but for now, let's just believe they're on the road to resolution... 
> 
> 2 notations on the timeline compared to TLOU2 (SPOILERS):  
> • In TLOU2, Joel dies on March 2nd with the church hall scenes taking place on March 1st – this fic is set in mid-December instead. I purposely moved the timeline back a few months because for the rest of the story...well, you'll see. But I'm aware of this discrepancy.  
> • TLOU2 had a nasty blizzard on March 2, mine had it for three+ continuous days in December – again, for the same reasons as mentioned above.
> 
> As always, THANK YOU for reading, reviewing, kudos-ing...it really is the way to this girls heart. x


	3. & Boundless Fury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joel and Ellie share breakfast, Joel is very very introspective, Ellie and Dina talk and then there's the movie night that never was... //spoilers for a movie from 1991 lol//

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am *so* sorry this took me longer than I anticipated. I needed a few days away from writing because, unfortunately, one of my other fics was flamed on twitter and phew, that hurt. Not gonna lie. I've written a giant post-note detailing what happened (if anyone is interested in the gore) over on "Crimson & Hazel," but just know that folks who don't ship Joel/Ellie are reaaal quick to throw some massive hate and horrible rhetoric to those who do. 
> 
> Moving on. 
> 
> Here's chapter 3! We are getting more into dialogue, both inner and outer, and expanding a bit to include other key characters. Still, the nightmare is prevalent and Ellie and Joel are doing their best to balance. 
> 
> I warned y'all from the start, this is the slowest burn of all burns, so hang in there. I'll drop some goodies in long before they've been earned because even my heart will need it with this one!

“Damn, Joel, that hit the spot…” Ellie rubs her tummy affectionately and smacks her lips in delight at the breakfast he’s conjured up for them. Joel just watches her, his hands clasped at the nape of his neck, belly full of eggs, bacon and the fluffiest pancakes this side of the west. 

Because even with the woeful absence of a morning coffee, Joel can’t help but agree with the girl that yes, this morning’s spread did indeed hit The Spot. 

“Thank you, kindly,” he mumbles, palms sliding up and down his unkempt hair while yawning wide and animatedly. Ellie looks on and thinks a spell; he appears...comfortable, at ease to a very visible degree. As if there’s a distinct lack of that notable Joel-tension that’s always lingering in his structured disposition. As if having her here, in his kitchen again, is making him lighter all of the sudden. 

She gives their past, that ever-present pit in her stomach, a swift flyover and then consciously chooses to ignore it; this is her offering him another chance. Offering _them_ as a cohesive unit another chance. 

And besides, she does like it. She enjoys this ease, this lighter space they’re sharing. 

“Any ideas for later? What you thinkin’ you’d like for dinner tonight?” Joel poses, letting his hands slap onto his thighs before absently kneading the roped muscle just-so. 

Ellie’s nose scrunches in consideration – Joel wants to laugh but instead gazes away; he’s missed that exact expression so much it...hurts to see it fill her features so care-freely. As if he hasn’t been caught in a holding pattern for close to two years all the while hoping for the wholeness this girl brings to his everyday. 

It occurs to him idly that maybe, just maybe, he’s undeserving of the peace she so effortlessly imbues. That maybe the ice outside his windows is all he’s truly worth to her. To anyone anymore. 

“Joel?” 

He snaps-to, brings his eyes to greet hers, “Mmm?”

“You just mentally took off after asking me about dinner. Are you thinking of brisket or wait, no—it’s something even more delicious I’m not aware of, isn’t it?” 

He laughs through his nostrils, angles forward; his elbows rest on the table and Joel muses on whether or not, again, he should attempt That Conversation. He longs for reconciliation and prays for forgiveness but ultimately, whatever will be, will be. In this moment, all he does know is that it’s a start and if that means starting over, then he will do whatever it takes. 

“Sorry, Red– _Ellie._ Suppose I got to thinkin’ a little too hard ‘bout dinner, didn’t I?” 

She bobs her skull but doesn’t acknowledge his slip of the nickname he once frequently used for her. Instead, Ellie drags a fingertip through a savory mix of bacon grease and maple syrup that’s pooling on her plate – Joel’s homemade batches are a point of pride for the town – and then brings it in for a taste. 

“Mm...yew ded,” she mumbles around the digit in her mouth, swallows the delicious concoction and snorts, “Sorry. Yes, you did. So, what’s the meal that’s got you so contemplative. I wanna know what we’re gonna be dining on while we watch– _Oh_ –we gotta pick a movie, too! Hmm...” Ellie wipes away warm saliva on the fresh flannel she’s wearing – hers was a tattered mess after last night and so it came as no shock when Joel offered a replacement. There’s also the oversized flimsy pants she’s dressed in – also his and so big on her petite frame that they’re pooling at her ankles and even the idea of running is close to an impossibility. 

Regardless, she bounds from her seat, hoists the slacks’ waistband to damn-near her chin and sets course. The girl makes a beeline for the growing collection of VHS tapes in his living room, her energy and focus redirecting from their cozy food nook to the evening plans that lay ahead. 

The entire scene gives Joel a belly-laugh this time – before he promptly averts his eyes as every thought _reverts_ to the constellation he discovered upon her skin. He wants to unsee that beautiful patch of scattered stars on her pale breastbone, wants to purge all these foreign, unclean meanderings from his mental locker. Or at least he tells himself that _that’s_ what he should want. But the lure of what starry-skied variants and celestial patterns might be etched there is akin to a gravity well – and it’s drawing him in one molecule at a time. 

Joel swallows as he holds himself unsteadily at a crossroads: Not only is he actually entertaining such thoughts but there’s hope blooming alongside them as well. Hope that he may learn every secret that hides beneath those faded clothes she’s barely managing. Hope that they may return to the impenetrable level of trust they built one mile at a time. Hope that he’s not fucked in the head to want both of these in tandem. 

_‘Christ almighty you crooked sonuvabitch, what in the hell is happenin.’”_

His field of view shifts to the front of his house as he rises and folds back into reality. Doesn’t trot in after the girl but instead places their dishes into the sink and wipes his tacky hands on a used towel. He lends himself a respite as sounds of weathered slip-covers and plastic are summarily sorted through; she’s rifling in the meager stockpile that makes up his 80’s-90’s action and horror collective all the while sassing his tastes here and there as she goes. 

“Gremlins?! What the fuck is a _Gremlin?_ That can't be a real word…”  
“Ohhh...this is about an Air Force fighter jet school and there’s a hot girl in this one…”   
“This movie has a dude dressed in a jumpsuit and he has a knife? It’s for Halloween though, or no, it’s _called_ Halloween, so no. Scratch that, it’s too close to Christmas for that scary shit...” 

Joel listens in silence to her delightful rhetoric but knows it’s only a matter of moments until Ellie’s hollering to get his ass out there – likely in those exact words. Still, pending that, he’s stalled by the counter, his mind aimed at just how he is able to unring the bell that booms like a warning in his chest. Because he’s too old to jump so quickly from A to Z and not end up dead in a ditch somewhere. Or...worse. Abandoned again. 

Something else nags in the midst of this growing inner turmoil: Joel thinks it’s funny in that not so funny way as to how quickly they’ve taken to old patterns and familiar rhythms. Even how lighthearted it feels. Well, minus last night’s spooning and this morning’s...touching session. That definitely was not part of their old habits. 

He’s struggling to name the weight that sits in his gut but tastes like embarrassment: Was one night of fervency and panic enough to tip his fragile psyche over an edge he didn’t know was there? Was one morning of her physical affections all it took for him to see this girl in a much, much different light? 

Joel stops – realizes how weak-minded and starving for _her_ attention he must be to let go and float so far up the creek of...whatever this is. 

The breakfast in his stomach churns and sinks further; he’s uneasy, his emotions upended, unsure of what or how to proceed from here. Should they have a movie night, should he cook her dinner… Is he overreacting, did he have a stroke? 

He makes a decision. 

“Ellie?” Voice so soft he almost hopes she didn’t hear him. Almost wishes she won’t reply in kind and find him so woefully shameful. Wishes to continue on as they have already this morning and then get to share an evening of content and unimportance side by side. 

“Joel! Found the sequel with that time-traveling beefcake machine dude that tried to kill the son of his enemy who wasn’t born yet so that Judgement Day, or whatever the fuck it’s called-was that like Outbreak Day? Anyway so _that_ still happens and the cyborg uprising can conquer earth and slay humanity. I think I’ve got that right? But we never watc–” 

The girl grinds to a halt with the movie in her hand, her brow-line pinching as she absorbs the sorrowful sight of him. Her expression immediately falls, the VHS lowering to rest against her thigh. 

“What’s wrong?” 

His mood descends alongside the Terminator 2: Judgement Day tape and he peers away; he has a choice here, just as he did at the outskirts of Jackson four or so years ago. Joel can tell the truth or he can hide it and pretend it all away. Can shield his heart and stow whatever these newfound...feelings...are for her far and away from this seemingly successful reunion. 

“Nothin’s wrong. It’s–you’re here an’ things feel better is all. A bit like whiplash, too, an’ I’m afraid I’m not keepin’-to well enough.”

Not a lie, not the whole truth either. 

She places the film onto the kitchen island and approaches with tentative steps, her limbs fidgety, “We’re trying, Joel. I’m trying. You have to try, too. Is...maybe it’s too fast though? Maybe it’s too much? Should I go?” She signals to the front door behind them by twisting her torso towards it, effectively breaking eye contact. 

Without thinking, Joel reaches for her, thumbs the moth and wraps his remaining fingers around the rest of her arm, “Please don’t.” 

Ellie tilts into the barest hint of desperation laden to that low tone of his. It’s a rare thing to hear that octave from Joel and it’s been so long that she’s forgotten the massive effect it has on her insides. She covers the hand that’s gripping fast to her tattoo – the tattoo _for_ him – and works her fingers into his. They’re warm and strong and grounding. As is the rest of him. 

“Then let’s decide on dinner now- _since I picked the movie already_ -and then, I don’t know, have a good night? You and me. I’ll leave for a few to shower and change into clothes that actually fit and we’ll have the whole day and night to just...try. Sound good?” 

Joel nods but doesn’t speak, not fully trusting himself to keep any knee-jerk commentary to a minimum. Besides, emotions and talking have never really been his _thing._ She knows this, of course, because somewhere along the way Ellie found a road beyond it all – all the bravado, all the boundless fury. Still, it’s been many moons since she torched his lockboxes and cut past every length of caution tape he’d layered in the decades before her. 

Once upon a time it unnerved him to his very core but now, _now_ he implores the universe to help her forget how to see everything in him. Most especially this new...phase that’s come on like the swing of a golf club – the same sort that supposedly ended his life in her dream. For despite her tactile reflections and loving attention this morning, Joel’s uncertain that those are of the same kind his brain keeps steering him towards. 

There’s simply no way Ellie, his _Ellie,_ would...want that. Would want him _like_ that. 

“Okay?” The girl repeats as she steps closer and looks north into his crestfallen eyes.

His head bounces as he offers a smirk in place of any words that may tumble out and thus ruin her. Again. 

“Okay, good. So...dinner? What’ll it be, Chef Miller?” 

“Well, I was thinkin’, you mentioned brisket but it’s too late for that. Gotta let a beast like that marinate for a while beforehand. So how’s ‘bout good ol’ steak and potatoes? Side veggies bein’ yours for the choosin’, of course.” 

Ellie’s eyes light up as though Jackson’s council just popped the switch on the yearly Christmas tree directly in front of her – a ceremony which takes place next week, Joel remembers, and immediately wonders if she’ll go with him. But damn, her smile is bright and real and all for him. His own spreads across his face but then he looks away. She’s simply too pretty with those green eyes and red li–. 

“Steak? _YOUR_ steak, oh yes. Ellie like. Veggies...hmm. How about carrots and green beans? I can make a casserole. That is...if you don’t mind sparing some kitchen space. Unless you’ve learned how to be less...growly about kitchen companions?” 

He laughs and releases her forearm, “Done an’ done, but let’s save the casseroles for closer to the holidays. You’ll...you’ll be back celebratin’ Christmas this year, right?” 

He swallows an unexpected lump in his throat, rakes a hand through his wily grayblack mop, exhales, and waits. Does so many things in the space of a few seconds that he loses count; his wheels are spinning – Joel needs her to say something, say anything. 

“Yeah, I’ll be here.” 

Her looks shine with a warmth that harbors no deception, but there’s something beyond the horizon of that sunshine he can’t quite name; it’s an intention that seems closer to apprehension than anxiety. 

It’s right then that Joel understands with absolute clarity that she’s not thought long-term insofar as their relationship or where this new beginning may see them. 

Which is okay, of course, but dashes the secret hope of a more intimate sort of closeness by nearly half. Which is also okay, because once more, Joel reaffirms that he’s undeserving of that kind of...love with her. That he doesn't have the right to even _have_ such curiosities and unfounded, baseless desires. Especially after one night where nothing happened. 

A vision of pale skin and cinnamon stars tear their way across his skies and move through him as if he were seeing them again in real time. 

_‘No, goddamn’it, **no.’**_

He makes a decision: Joel is going to imprison it all, dig a grave and bury these hidden wants way, way down into the depths of the earth. It’s where they belong. 

So he clears his throat, peers low on his person and pats a hand to his chest, steels himself; yes, that’s always where his heart was meant to go – into the ground. 

_‘Maybe her nightmare wasn’t just a dream but a...thing that’ll be. Maybe I shoulda went to work today...’_

It’s a sick notion but the last two years have been fraught daily with heartache, regret and sorrow. It’s his new normal, not this morning or last night. Not the beautiful universe he wants to collide into or the way she felt at him so needfully. Not the heat of her breath on his chest, on his soul, as he pretended to sleep. As he drank in the nearness that left his body riddled with a new set of aches. 

None of that is his normal. None of it _can_ be his normal. He just needs to readjust, that’s what it is. 

“Joel? Um...I’m gonna go and get cleaned up and I’ll be back over in a little while, yeah?” 

“What? You’re leavin’?” His hazels snap to her and he finds actual apprehension there this time. “You don’t gotta change. We’re cookin’ and movie watchin’. Who you tryin’ to impress?” 

He regrets that last bit immediately but then she laughs and he regrets it a little less. 

“You keep, I don’t know, spacing out on me. Figured you want time alone? I know you used to need that...before.” 

Joel scratches an eyebrow as he rummages around in their history; he can’t remember ever wanting to be away from her once they left well enough alone and became...whatever it was they were. He sighs in total resignation – he can’t call up a single memory in his archival search. 

“When was I ever needin’ to be away from you?” 

“Well, it was more when Tess was alive and soon after she was killed. A couple times you’d just wander off and I’d remember back to when she’d just shrug and say something like, ‘it’s just what he does, what he needs,’ and that was that. I never understood because you’d leave me alone, which was cool I guess, but I was too afraid to ask why after a certain point.” 

“Afraid of what?” 

“...You.” 

Joel sniffs deeply, closes his eyes – the rough start to their past is revealing itself but neither could have known any of it would lead them here, all these years later. Broken at the start, broken now.

“I didn’t...I don’t want to be away from you, Ellie. Even then it wasn’t ‘bout that. I–” 

The girl hushes him with an embrace. Her arms wind around his taut waist and she pulls herself into him, and pulls him into her. They sink into one another and remain, suspending themselves above days that are long gone but linger all the same. 

She whispers into his blue cotton, “I know, Joel.” 

He returns the hug, slides his limbs about her and simply hangs on. Joel’s lips settle onto the top of her head and he breathes her in; it calms and returns him to the present in equal measures. It also stirs something inside, a specific _piece_ he must have overlooked when those plans to entomb his feelings initially came to mind. 

He’ll circle back to it eventually but for now, he’ll accept this and doesn't think much past it. 

She tilts her head to look up but doesn’t release him yet, “Okay, it’s only 8 am. I’ll go and be back by 2ish? I have to find Dina and…talk with her a bit, too. Do you want me to pick anything up from the general store? For dinner or snacks– _Ohhhh!_ –Joel! What the fuck are we having for dessert?” 

This girl and her love of food, Joel muses, his abs flexing against hers as he laughs, “How ‘bout you surprise me with your choice of sweets?” 

“Deal.” She smiles, still looking up at him, still looking up to him and it feels like his bones are fracturing; how can he think of her _that_ way. It was just a nightmare that led her to blindly grab at him like some fossil they once found in a museum a couple years ago. Intrigue, curiosity, reality. She was just reaffirming he was still here That was all. Nothing more. Nothing at all more. 

This mental badgering continues unbridled until she leans on the balls of her feet and presses her lips to his cheek. It’s quick and over in a flash and then she’s out of his arms before he’s able to process what she did. After, there’s a giggle-snort that echo in tandem as she clings to his giant sleep-pants that appear to have fallen in the midst of their hug. 

“Well that’s just fucking embarrassing…!” 

He doubles part way forward at her misfortune, and a pressure releases from his lungs like a kettle whistling; he slaps a palm down onto the kitchen island, “You better bring them pants back tonight. We could use some’a those embarrassin’ snorts...” 

“Oh, fuck you, man!” Ellie laments as she stumbles towards her boots sat by the front door – _’So that’s where they wound up…’_ She doesn’t mean the insult and they both know it, but it’s distinctly _her_ and he can’t help the tightening in his chest. He’s missed that, too. 

She’s about to exit, with fistfuls of soft, fraying fabric desperately trying to stay wrapped to her lithe hips. 

“Keep laughing, old man....I’m eating the last of whatever delicious treat I bring. You can bet your ass on that.” Boots on, she focuses on the door.

“We’ll see. 2ish, right?” 

She doesn’t hear him. The girl is standing motionless, a brass doorknob in her grasp; a hand tremors as she shakes by an intense fear that’s returning more fully with every second that passed; the girl closes her emeralds – tries to push past the hollow memory of a thing that’s never come to pass. Tries to convince herself she’s not about to languish in a basement full of screams and loss and blood and regret. 

“Ellie?” 

He steps forward into the hallway and catches sight of her there, silent and iced-over like the snowy landscape that awaits beyond the wooden barrier.

She exhales loudly as her shoulders drop, as they fall into one another like a cascading avalanche of relief. The sound she makes isn’t a sigh exactly but rather an exhalation of air that signifies she can keep breathing, because his voice is real. Real and beautiful.

The girl finds his features awash with concern, his brow pinched and lips set in a firm line, “You alright, girl?”

Ellie swallows but doesn’t mask the tears that have begun to swell. He’s too far off to see them anyway.

“Joel...don’t ever leave me?”

His chin angles into the crook of his neck and he’s...wordless and worried simultaneously. His hazels are squinting at first and then he ambles towards her with a purposeful gait. But she forces a smile and leaves right as he’s about to reach her. He didn’t get there in time. 

She’s gone but she’ll return. He knows it.

††††

The water is lukewarm and dribbly by the time Ellie comes back to the present. She's spent the better part of the last ten minutes musing on Joel and their night and that curious spark as she laid in his arms and what it all means and how to get past the dream, how to get past their shared but separate trauma – how to get past his lies. She’s torn between hitting the reset button so hard it’ll never need striking again _or_ easing into a rhythm that lessens the gaps of their years apart by taking it one day, one hour, one minute. Because he hurt her, he lied and destroyed the only solid foundation she’s ever believed in. He did that, he consciously made that choice _for_ her. For them.

Still.

He saved her.   
She saved him.   
Time and again. 

But now...today she’s finding it impossible to forgo the feel of his soft, long hair, or the memory of just how deep and worldly the lines on his face truly are up close. How the scars on his body form a map of his life, of the years he’s fought so hard to survive through. She longs to trail a fingertip from one unique point of interest to the next and listen to the story of every single journey beneath him. Beneath a canopy of blankets. 

She thinks of the scars on the inside that haven’t fully healed over, too, thinks she doesn’t want to be one of those for him anymore. He has enough. Had enough long before she came crashing into him wholly uninvited. 

Even knowing all of this, the girl finds she’s at a loss. She wants _something_ but doesn’t know _how_ to want so all she can do is move through and offer what she’s capable of, whenever the situations present themselves. 

Which is precisely why she’s been keeping to a lighthearted, easy demeanor since waking up beside him. It’s not a facade or an act but more of a way for the girl to seat herself into that place she once was with him. Still, Ellie knows that line of thinking is fruitless; you can never go back, you can only press onward. And their onward already appears far different than their backward ever did.

The droplets on her freckled shoulders feel wonderful, or they did, but now the water is chilly and uncomfortable and there are things to do and people to chat with before afternoon winds around. She’s glad for the distraction.

There’s a knock to her garage door then and she guesses it’s likely Joel; now that they’re speaking again – having fun and making plans like they used to alongside this _newer_ stuff – he’s bound to start his old routine of “just checkin’ in” from time to time. She doesn't mind the thought of it. 

“One sec,” she sings from the bathroom, reaching for a clean towel and securing it to her person. Her hair drip-drops onto the floor as she meanders towards the entrance; she pauses, takes stock of the mess her living space has become. _’Oof.’_ She hopes he won’t notice and if he does, won’t pay any attention to it. Not that it matters, but. 

_‘Maybe the whole naked-in-a-towel thing will distract him? Oh fuck, Ellie. What are you even saying…’_

She cracks open the front door, peeks through. It’s not Joel. 

“Oh hey, Dina,” Ellie’s face dips as a hint of pink paints her cheeks. She leverages the door open a little further. “Come on in.” 

“Did I catch you at a bad time? Or maybe it’s a good one?” Dina emphasizes this with an arch of one of those killer eyebrows as she moves past Ellie. 

The girls laugh as they walk into the open space of Ellie’s garage, “So...about last night.” 

Ellie pushes out her bottom lip and averts her suddenly shy, green eyes – last night and their kiss. _Not_ last night and Joel. Not the nightmare. She winces. 

“Oh damn, that bad, huh?” Dina jests, but there’s a vein vulnerability found there, too. 

“What? No, no, I–something else made me...made my face…do that. Really, I wasn't cringing about our kiss.” 

Dina flops onto the couch and sighs, “Well, of course I know it wasn’t about the kiss. It wasn’t _that_ bad.” 

Ellie sits beside the girl and leans back, “ _That bad?_ You're saying it was bad but not as bad in comparison to what...Jesse’s?” After a beat of silence, the pair breaks into a low laugh as they look to one another. Ellie likes this girl, has for a long time, and after last night, there’s obviously a possibility of...more. And now she’s here, in her place and sitting with a look of...anticipation? Or maybe that was just Ellie’s own crush bleeding out into the space between them. 

She’s finding more and more that she’s unsure of just about everything and everyone in her small bubble. Or maybe just uncertain with herself. What she wants, who she wants… it’s all a mystery and even the idea of it confuses her. 

“So, got any plans tonight? Wanna, I don’t know, go to the bar and rile Seth up again with a good old fashioned make-out sesh?” Dina taps Ellie’s naked kneecap and waits, eyes expectant and hopeful. “I mean, since you bailed on patrol today, I got the day off. Jesse is trying to do me a solid or something, not sure what he’s up to. I just know I have oodles of free time now.” She inhales and twists to face her friend – waits. 

“I’m...I actually have a movie night with Joel on the books. He’s cooking dinner and we’re watching one of his favorites. An ‘old action film with heart,’ he calls it, or did, back after we watched the first in the series. We’re just now getting around to the sequel.” Ellie pries her gaze away from Dina’s dark browns and stares at the floor; she feels guilty but doesn’t all the same. More confusion. 

“Oh, that’s cool. So, you guys are what, like okay again? Last night you were really pissed off at him. Can’t figure that out still. I know things haven’t been kosher between you two but that was...harsh.” The girl bites a nail and shrugs at the flex of Ellie’s jawline, “It was, Ellie. He was sticking up for us. Actually, he was defending _me,_ and you just–” 

“I know. I shouldn’t have said what I said–but Joel and I talked last night after I left the hall. We’re trying to work things out. Or, I’m trying now. He’s always wanted...well, yeah. Anyway.” An awkward silence fills in the emptiness between their seats and neither knows what to say. 

Dina’s never been great with awkwardness or the quiet and so, “Well, I hope you guys enjoy your night. Sounds fun and I’m glad you’re mending things. But...are you good? You seem a little out of your usual sorts. You can tell me if it’s me or last night. I won’t be offended or anything.” 

“No, I mean, yes, I’m alright-” she pauses to breathe and recalibrate, “It’s been sort of crazy the past few hours? But it’s nothing to do with you or the dance. Promise,” after this, Ellie leans forward and scratches a phantom itch on the right side of her face. Unsure of what to do or say next. 

“Okay, well, if you finish up early at Joel’s, come find me. He goes to bed at like, six, right? So you might have time after to hang…” Ellie snorts and grins at her friend by her back, “Nah, Joel’s actually more of a night owl since settling in Jackson. But if it shakes out that way, I’ll track you down.” 

Dina scoots down to the end of the cushion and levels a look to Ellie, “And I know you can.” The dark-haired girl winks and then rises, makes to leave. She hovers by the handle a moment and then looks over her shoulder, “I had a good time last night, by the way. Maybe not tonight, but I’d definitely like to spend more good times with you at some point, Ellie.” 

Ellie smiles and nods, “Me, too.” 

Dina gives a bright, toothy grin and then exits, pulling the door with her. 

Once again, Ellie finds herself alone, in this room with all her thoughts and the whirlwind that is her heart. She _does_ like Dina and yet there’s that spark that’s poking and whispering words of something new, something unfamiliar. With someone else. It’s alluring. 

As is Dina. 

Ellie stands and cuts a path towards her bureau; Joel’s well-worn slacks are folded neatly on top and she doesn't fight the happiness that spreads inside of her. She’ll bring them over and wear them when it’s movie go-time, but for now, she changes into something that’s _her._ It forces her to focus on a menial task and not a single thing outside of it. 

The girl welcomes the mental respite. 

††††

“Ready to get this classic goin’?” Joel sucks a crumb of the delicious blueberry pie Ellie brought off of his finger and chances a peek over at her. There’s a blanket that’s looping around her shoulders and upper body like a thick scarf, and his sleepwear comfortably returned to her legs. She’s really here – all content, full from the meal he made and ready for some 90’s action. With him.

“If you need anythin’ else from the kitchen, you’re on your own from here on out, missy.” 

“Haven’t you seen this like a dozen times? And we can pause it, ya know.” 

“More. But there ain’t no pausin’ Terminator 2. Maybe The Terminator but this here is a perfect film. We ain’t pausin’ perfection.” 

She laughs and rolls her eyes, settles in to watch the greatness that he’s so lovingly bestowed upon said sci-fi film. Suspects he’s almost certainly full of shit, but will save that for later when she’s able to tear the movie apart.

††††

Ellie wipes away another batch of tears and sniffs generously, “Okay, what the fuck, Joel. He sacrificed himself and then the hand going into a fucking thumbs up as he went under, Jesus. Why not just gut me next time and be done with it.”

Joel’s belly pushes out a bit as he laughs, his head leaning onto the couch cushion, “Told you. Perfect film.” 

“I mean, it had its moments like what even was…or when that guy…and fucking when she…no, dammit. You’re right. It _is_ a perfect movie.” 

The girl sniffs once more and uses the rear of her hand to wipe away a few tears that don’t seem to realize it’s time for them to quit.

“I wish we’d done a bet. You’d be doin’ laundry for a week, girl.” He shifts, brings a leg up onto the couch and curls it under his other, then props his head onto a balled fist. 

“Pssh, you can just keep on wishing. If I ever smell your pond-scum, stanky boxers again it’ll be the end of me, Joel. I swear it.” 

His laugh comes loud and heavy, his head thrown back with the pair of his hands shrouding his face, “Touché, Red, touché.” 

She looks to him with eyes the color of olives that twinkle in the lowlight of his living room; there are no lamps on and the sun has long since set. It’s only the luminance from the rolling movie credits and that thundering _dun-dun-dun-dundun_ cadence in the background that are keeping them company. Ellie watches him as he rubs his eyes, pinches his brow and cracks his neck. 

That distinct sound of his bones popping permeates through the air and she can feel fear creeping up on her again like a reaper. It’s nighttime, closer to that dreamworld than she wants to be. 

She wants to crawl six or so inches and sit in his lap, on his lap, anywhere just _with_ him. She’s craving that connection, knows only he can cease the waves before they crash ashore and drown her anew. 

“Hey?” He says, waving a hand in front of her face, “Earth to Ellieee.”

She blinks a bunch and then refocuses, “Sorry. It’s just…I don’t know. Late.” 

He looks at the clock on his wall and makes a clicking noise, “That it is. Best we say our goodnights? We took off today but tomorrow we’re back on patrol again. Tommy stopped by earlier when you was at your place and said we’re on shift together. Hope that’s good?” 

It’s exactly what she needs to segue into her next bit, “Um, yeah, no that’s good. But…c-can I stay here again? This way we can just leave at the same time and–” 

He reaches to her and touches an exposed part of her cheek, “If you’re scared to sleep alone in the garage you can always stay here. You know that.” 

She gives a hopeful half-smile and leans into his hand; Joel glances away because he’s certain of what he should do next, knows what he needs to say. 

“I’ll sleep on the couch. You can have the whole bed to yourself. How ‘bout that?” 

Ellie looks to the tv and the brightness of its screen is suddenly blinding. _She hears him scream her name._ Ellie looks out of a window at the falling snow. _She sees his body collapse into itself like a dying supergiant._ Ellie looks south to her hands as she clutches and pulls the yarn apart, decimating a square of the blanket. _She hears his skull fracture sees the blood spraying sees his limbs twitch as the last of his life fires through him from tip to toe._

_“Joel…”_ Her voice is lower than a hush, swelling from pain and so afraid she can hardly breathe. 

He’s there in less than a breath, his arms around her, his lips close to her ear just like before, “Okay, okay. Let’s go upstairs. We’ll _both_ have the whole bed together…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we are! Joel is massively conflicted *already* and it's only going to get worse, naturally. And Ellie, oh you sweetpea, putting band-aids on bullet holes and ignoring the seeping blood. Thankfully Joel can see right through her. 
> 
> But what does this mean for them? Where does Ellie & Dina go from here? Next chapter will reveal the basis of the entire fic but until then, thank you ALL for the incredible reception and handling of this story! xx


	4. & Swollen Sorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellie has another vivid nightmare but Joel is there to help her, again. They go on patrol and then there's a Town Hall forum that might just shake things up in the immediate future...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted a day later than I wanted but here we are! A bit longer so I hope that makes up for my delay. More notes at the end, lovelies. x

_The stairway goes endless and gets longer with every panicked, descending step. His agonizing cries – Help! HELP me, Ellieeee – rise to her, but she’s too far away still._

_The door becomes smaller the nearer she gets to it. The hallway narrows to a point as its walls press in and suffocate her. The stairs claw around her feet, rising steadily to swallow her ankles, calves and knees like a venomous mud._

_She’s racing against time, fighting more than an enemy that she knows is unkillable. She won’t win if she’s late; she won’t save Joel if she can’t break apart the plaster and wooden beams that lasso to her like a wicked ivy._

_She screams and flails at nothing – Ellie just needs to get to him. If she can reach him, she can save him. She knows it._

_Fuck time and all its vile passage. Fuck the torturer, fuck the demon that’s come between them – the same shrew that laughs on and on, its shadowy cackles cutting lines on her wrists and holes in her heart._

_Finally, she’s at the cursed door, grabbing the handle with both of her gloved palms. It slips as she tries to turn it over, but the girl doesn’t quit. She thrusts a shoulder into it again and again, screams his name in utter despair – Joel...JOEL! – but it’s no use. He is in there and she is out here as helpless as she’s ever been. Helpless, useless and failing him._

_She can’t get to him. She can’t save him._

_Ellie! Ellllllie...help me-ahhhHHH–_

_The wooden frame rattles as she assaults the door with a series of one-two shoulder punches and hard lunges. She feels her arm dislocate and the stinging swell of heat as the pain registers – but she will not cease this siege. So long as he’s alive and calling to her, she will not cower in the face of this trial._

_Ellie switches sides and employs her unbroken joint – JOEL, fucking get up, open this fucking door, Joel, I’m here, I’m right goddamn here!…_

_She hears a watery gurgle in the infinitesimal margin of error between her shoves. Following it comes a sickly sound of shattering bone and then...nothing._

_A guttural scream explodes from the very abyss of her soul – she falters from the collision of this great and formidable noise; realizes in the haze of this horror that such a universe of sound has come from within her and not some other feral creature._

_Her lungs burn, her muscles ache, her body trembles but she cannot succumb. She won’t._

_Ellie resumes her desperate actions with what little strength is left available to her; a shower of spittle hits flaky hardwood alongside the barrage of her sheathed fists and then just like that, the door swings wide on its hinges._

_The air that rushes to greet her is dangerous and fetid. Swollen and sorrowful. She nearly doubles over at the gagging convergence of iron, urine and saline – it’s all from Joel, all taken violently and without remorse._

_And then she sees him._

_Joel.  
Alone, so absolutely alone.  
Abandoned.  
Dead on the floor surrounded by a pool of inky-black fluid.  
His blood. _

_No no no. NO! JOEL **JOEL** –Joelllll–nooo, please no please no–_

“Ellie! Ellie, c’mon wake up, girl!” 

_She runs to the felled man, her feet, hands and heart raw and bare now. All the inorganic tethers to her body have sloughed off. She falls somewhere along the path and begins to crawl._

_Her jeans tear against cold cement as she drags her body to him.  
The skin on her palms peels away as she pulls herself hand over hand.  
Her nails grind down to bloody stumps for how slow and impossible this journey is._

_No…_

Ellie’s arms are thrashing, her legs kicking, her heels digging into the mattress; she’s ensnared so wholly into the nightmarish maze that Joel can’t seem to rouse her from its grip. 

_She’s by his side and handles him gently, like a delicate thing she’s afraid to touch, and afraid not to touch. Her hands twitch as they try to lay flat against his mutilated skull but the shape is concave and won’t allow for it. So she molds herself to it, tries to undo the damage, tries to hide it and reverse it all the same. To fill the cave in with all she has left to give._

_He’s still warm but she knows that won’t last for very long. Ellie craves his warmth as though all the world is now a frozen globe, lost to a man who was the sun._

_A dying star that held her lonely orbit._

_Joel...J...oel–jus’ wake up, please? I need you to get up, J–_

“Joel! Joel!! No… _no…_ ” she hollers, then whimpers, her throat set ablaze and fists so tightly curled in that the nails have bored half-moons into her flesh. 

He grabs midway on her arms and suspends them above her head; his hold is firm but not so much that he’ll leave marks or further terrify the poor girl. 

“Ellie, open your eyes, darlin’,” he repeats, his voice low and close. He leverages himself above her like he did the night before — half on, half off — and uses his legs to pin hers beneath blankets that are barely hanging on. She’s still caught in the clutches and he’s afraid the girl will hurt herself worse than anything she might do to him in her fervor. 

He slides from her forearms to her wrists and wraps his fingers around the small bones, taking great care not to grip too hard as he angles them above and away from her head. 

“Easy, baby, easy,” he says, a note louder than before. His worry for her is mounting, the ache in his chest cracking into a chasm full of fear that this hellscape won’t ever end. He thinks briefly on what that might mean for their future but pushes it away. Now is not the time for forward thinking or plan adjusting. 

_She presses flush to his side, wraps his dead arm around her and joins their foreheads; her hand still masks the final blow that took him from her – it’s too ugly a sight and he’s too beautiful a person for anyone else to see him this way._

_She wants to be wherever he is now, wants to beg, borrow or steal so that an evil phantom can send her to that next place, too. If only so he would hold her again – if only to be there with him and know that forever is nothing more than a word, since time can no longer exist._

His thumbs rub circles into the soft thin space where her pulse races like thundering horses, “C’mon, girl. Ellie, come back to me,” he says, voice raising in tandem with his panic. Joel doesn’t want her young heart to peter out before they have a chance to...get to wherever it is they’re going. And that’s the least of his worries. Or the most selfish one, he can’t decide. 

Either way, the nightmare’s had her for long enough.

It’s when he sets his forehead onto hers that something seems to change. It’s as if a ripple of recognition spreads from the center of his girl and flows outwards to the rest of her body. He sees it in real time but needs her to come home from this shadow land that keeps her hidden from his truth.

“Ellie, open’em pretty greens for me. I’m here, we’re here,” he speaks, his lips so close to hers he can practically taste the fear that’s seeping from her very being. 

_‘Closer than you should be, ol’ bastard.’_

Since he’s put himself so near to her, Ellie _is_ visibly calming but she’s not quite there, not yet. The thrashes have ceased, the screams, too. Now there lives only a whimper on her tongue – a sad, awful thing that Joel never wants to hear. 

She deserves so much more than this. She’s always deserved so much more than him. 

It’s a frightful experience for him as well. It’s as if he’s alive but enduring his death alongside her. Joel thinks it’s a surreal sensation of the highest kind and decides he’s had plenty of it for this lifetime, and the next. 

**“Ellie.”**

It’s said both forceful and commanding – a tone much more in line with what he used at the start of their journey to Wyoming all those years ago. It’s been a while since he’s heard her name on his lips like that and Joel winces instinctively; any time he thinks of how he treated her – how cold and callous and _mean_ he was – the pit in his belly drops a little bit more. 

But, just like it did then, the tone works today. 

Her eyes flash wide as though she were caught red-handed and guilty of sin itself and yet, her body goes lax in his stead. She knows. 

“Joel?” She’s breathless with fluttering eyes, each orb looking this way and that before she settles onto the one thing she _needs_ to see: Him. 

Joel gulps as her vision hones in on him; it’s here that he realizes how physically attached he is. He wasn’t intending to be so _on her_ but the situation clearly called for...this. 

“I’m right here, girl. Shh, breathe with me. It’s gonna be ok, ok? I got you.” He affirms and soothes and holds tight without moving a muscle. Nothing’s changed: Their foreheads are touching, her wrists are in his grasp, and her legs are pressing into the sweaty sheet that’s beneath her sticky skin. But the weight of him is comforting in ways she’ll never find words enough to express. 

“Joe-l…?” She chances again, voice breaking on the lyrical end of his name – it was too much this go around, just like it was too much the night before. 

“Mmhm, ‘nother nightmare, I reckon...” 

She swallows and nods, closes her eyes as she eases her arms from his grip. He releases them without preamble and sets his elbows near her rib cage to prop himself up. 

“I–It was...I wanted to–”

They both understand that she won’t be able to get through the rest of that broken sentence, not this close to the waking of the aforementioned nightmare, so he offers a sad half-smile and waits. 

“I fucking hate this,” Ellie murmurs as she begins to physically unravel from all this heaviness. She gasps and chokes on his name again and both arms rise quick and wind about his neck. She pulls so hard she brings Joel down onto her, and her up to him, and the girl just...clings and cries silently into his hair.

He slips a knee in between her parted limbs so that she can get to more of him – he knows that’s what she needs. He’ll give her whatever she needs, no matter what it is. 

And she takes it. 

Ellie wraps a leg around his waist and forces all the empty space between them gone. She’s expelling voids as though they were burning into her skin right before his very eyes. After, she molds herself to him, filling any remaining gaps and hollow areas with her skin and bones and breath and hair and hands legs arms lips mouth... 

Joel lets himself fall onto her, lets this happen and doesn’t think of anything outside of giving this girl the comfort she is beyond desperate for. He feels her hands everywhere on him; his shoulders, his biceps and forearms, his ribs and hips and abs and chest and throat and face and then...they settle in his hair for the longest spell. She keeps touching the left side of his head, over and over as though it were a relic to be worshipped upon. She smoothes her palms down his temple, over his eyes and cheekbones and cycles back in a repeating process of fervor. 

It’s eerily similar to yesterday morning, of course, but there’s a greater urge for intimacy and it’s of the sort that he’s never felt with anyone else. He knows this beyond any shadow of a doubt.

It frightens him in ways he’s too distracted to think of at present. Ways that will call on him in moments when she’s not in his arms, or even nearby. When he’s cooking, cleaning his weapons, chopping wood, showering. These thoughts will consume him in private and condemn in earnest. 

But for now, Joel holds on, his arms under her and curling upwards to cradle her head. He keeps her lips close to the heated skin of his neck as his fingers lace into her messy pile of auburn; he just wants to make it better. Somehow. 

“Shhh...you’re safe now. Ellie, you’re ok, girl. Wasn’t real.” He whispers this as though he were on vinyl, circling round and round but their song doesn’t sound the same. His heart certainly doesn’t feel the same, of that he’s sure. 

They separate a measure and she sniffs in a glob of clear fluid and scrunches her nose in embarrassment, hides a beat until, “Let’s...can we stay this way for a while? It’s not...the sun isn’t up yet but I don’t want to go back to sleep. Don’t think I can. I’m sorry, I know you’re tired, Joel. You...you can fall asleep if you want. Just don’t let go?” 

He tilts his head and reconnects his brow to hers, “Whatev’r you need. This is a mighty vicious dream that’s got ya. I know what those’r like. I do what you want. That’s that.” 

He moves and lifts off of her just enough so he can set the girl onto her side, curl against her spine and wrap himself around her; Joel exhales deeply and pushes all that intrusive air she hates so much out and away from all their empty spaces she aches to fill. 

It’s worrisome that he can’t help but wonder as to what other empty spaces she might need filled in their future. 

_‘No, dammit. Don’t...jus’ don’t.’_

“Hey, here’s somethin’ for ya,” he playfully pokes her firm belly as he says this, focusing their attention elsewhere. She laughs hesitantly, her mind so inundated by the nightmare that she’s not sure how far there’s left to travel before she can start putting it all behind her. Joel was the one to teach her that – the past stays in the past. Though, even he acknowledged once that, ‘no matter how hard you try, you can’t escape your past.’ 

She remembers that afternoon well – the day she gave Joel the photo of him and Sarah at one of the girl’s soccer games. It took the wind right out of his lungs but not his sails and that’s when Ellie _understood_ she was far more meaningful to Joel than she originally suspected. Even after the Farmhouse. 

“Oh? Something for me?” 

Joel’s nods against the rear of her neck and she swallows as a shiver tears through her; his breath is hot on the exposed skin at the meeting point of her shoulders – her unbroken, unbeaten shoulders. 

A disturbing pop echoes in the prism of her mind as she recounts using her body as a battering ram. 

_‘No.’_

His breath is there again – and did she feel his lips brush against her? Was she imagining things while awake, too? 

He successfully pushes the nightmare away without knowing but replaces it with that spark; it ignites anew and she wants so much to know what the fuck it is, what it means, what it’s signaling. She’s learned all about signal flares and fires and sparks and how to best utilize each facet of these for optimal survival in the wilderness but this? This is all new and...unfamiliar. 

“Mmhm. Ready?” 

Even laying on her side with him spooning her, she’s able to turn enough to see him in the dark; she catches a glint of moonlight on his midnight eyes and a hint of mirth on the rest of his features. 

“Ready...I think?” 

He clears his throat and, “I’m reading’ a book about anti-gravity. It’s impossible to put down.” 

There’s a pregnant pause that’s lengthy enough for Joel to think he’s missed his mark – until Ellie sags into his chest and laughs so loud he’s not sure she’ll ever stop. Not that he wants her to. 

“Oh...how ‘bout: I started sleepin’ in our fireplace. Now I sleep like a log.” The girl cracks, bows in on herself and damn near howls; Joel hears himself titter in response and can’t help the toothy smile that's come. It’s such an abrupt shift in a short amount of time but he’s grateful for it. Her laughter has always been an excellent diffuser and tonight’s no different. It recharges the room and offers a respite they each desperately desire. 

“See? I _knew_ you always loved when I would share those punny jokes.” 

“Love is a strong word for the type’a affection I got for puns, Red.” 

“Keep telling yourself that, old man. But...got anymore?” 

“Mmhm. Let’s see...Alright. What washes up on tiny beaches? ...Microwaves.” 

More laughter comes as morning light slowly seeps in through the curtains. 

“Another?”

††††

“Ugh. It’s cold. And so quiet out here.”

“Quiet is usually good. Means we ain’t in danger.” 

“I guess. Snow really dampens it all. Hehe…see what I did there? _Snow. Dampens.”_

Joel shakes his head from over on his horse and smiles, “I shoulda never told you all those dang puns. I fear I set myself up for nothin’ _but_ puns now.” 

“You did start it.” 

He laughs and doesn’t mask any of it, his belly bouncing against the thick layers of his winter wear. He thinks to their morning and tries not to make more of it than what it was on the surface. No cinnamon stars, no pale skin. None of that. 

Joel’s a man in control and it’s not about to change any time soon, if he has any say about it.

“That I did.” 

Still, she seems to need him in a way she never has and while it may be different to what they’ve shared prior to their falling out, it all comes down to...love. He won’t say as much and neither will she but that’s what it is between them. Love’s moved in and out of various stages and is now changing faster than he’s capable of keeping up with but even she wouldn’t refute it. 

“So...wanna have dinner tonight or do you have other plans?” Ellie’s eyes are looking everywhere but at him. 

It’s intentional but cute as hell. Joel can do nothing but snort, “You just want me to cook for you again, doncha?” 

She latches onto his rescue line and looks to him with something like relief in those green eyes, “Yep. I can’t be blamed for your master culinary skillz, Joel.” 

“Fair, fair. An’ no, I ain’t got no plans. Think maybe we oughta invite Tommy an’ Maria, too? Whaddya think?” 

“That sounds good to me. I’ll see Maria back at the guard shack after I’m done here. Heard she was looking for me for some reason. So I can ask her then?” 

Joel bobs his head in agreement and directs his line of sight to the pathway ahead of them. Their trajectory for the past hour has been Jackson’s East Gate 2, as their shift is coming to a close for the afternoon, and things have been abnormally calm for the most part. Not a Runner or Clicker in sight. It’s nice but it’s unnatural, especially for the smaller hordes that tend to flock to these local areas this time of year. 

“Ya know, I’m gonna chat with Tommy tonight ‘bout that Town Hall Meetin’ on Thursday. Wonder if it’s to do with how quiet things been lately.” Joel scratches his beard and runs a hand through his unkempt, long hair and Ellie feels a bubble of bile in the rear of her throat. 

The girl burps unceremoniously before, “‘Scuse me. But do you think Hunters or Raiders are out here mobilizing while picking off the Infected for us in the meantime?” 

Joel huffs but doesn't answer right away, “Stranger things have happened, trust me. Jus’ think we oughta make mention of it, is all.” 

Ellie’s lips pucker as she tightens her hold onto worn, leather reins, “Maybe the Infected are finally dying off? It’s been twenty-five damn years. It’s gotta end eventually right? Cure or not.” 

They both fall silent at the mention of the C-word. Joel looks at her tentatively, peeking at the girl through downcast eyes. Uncertain as to what he should say here, or if he should remain silent altogether. 

“Ellie…” 

“Shh…” 

“What?” 

“SHHH…” She holds a closed fist to him and then depresses a finger to her lips, “Do you hear that?” Her words are barely above a whisper but Joel’s heard whatever _IT_ she wanted him to hear. 

“We’re nearly back to Jackson. ‘Nother half mile or so. You head on up and alert the tower guards.” He’s almost as silent as she was but his gaze is targeting the endless forest. Searching, seeking. He swings his Winchester around and flips the safety off. 

He notices she’s gone silent and turns to find a look of horror there. Fear is carving its way across her face in canyons so deep and vast that he damn-near drops his rifle. He would prefer a punch directly to his gut over that look any day, any time. 

She finds her voice, “Joel…No fucking way I’m leaving you. So either we go alert the guards together or we go and investigate what sounded a fuck lot like people walking in the woods. And we know no one from Jackson should be out here. What’s it gonna be?” 

They make the trek to East Gate 2 in a few minutes’ time and warn the tower personnel that’s on duty. It’s Cedric and Max. They radio down for reinforcements – just in case. Better safe than sorry is exactly why Jackson has stood and thrived as long as it has. 

Joel dismounts his stallion and walks to its rear, a contemplative look burrowing into the stern age lines on his face, “I gotta find Tommy an’ tell him ‘bout that business in the woods. You said you need to go see Maria. So, you’ll be at the house for dinner?” 

“Yep. And...Joel?” 

He’s slipping his backpack onto his shoulders as he reaches for the reins distractedly, “Mm?” 

“Thank you. For back there. I...I know I’m–I know it’s not...I–” 

He steps to her and puts a hand on the curve of her shoulder and neck, presses just enough so that it reassures and comforts his girl, “Hey, it’s just you and me. Got it?” 

A warmth spreads from that same source of light that’s building low inside of her and she smiles, “Just you and me.”

††††

“It’s bitterly cold and we gotta walk half a mile to that smelly-ass Town Hall. I swear, Ellie. If this isn’t Jackson telling us we’ve won free bullets or TP for a year, I might lose it.” Dina raises her scarf up and over her mouth for a minute, too cold to even complain anymore.

Dina, Jesse, Ellie and Max – another man near their age who worked the tower shifts and idolizes farm life to an extent even Joel finds amusing – were walking from Dina's house down the main thoroughfare towards said stanky Hall. Each was bundled in their thickest outerwear and yet their jaws were rattling like tin cans being dragged from the bumper of a pickup. 

Which was something Ellie had only heard of from Joel until she saw it with her own eyes after Rita and Ben Jensome got married last Spring. Wild stuff. Or weird, she still couldn’t decide. 

“TP or bullets for life would be fine. I’d prefer an abundance of seed if we’re allowed to choose. When it’s time to plant and you’re empty-handed, that’s a sorry feeling, let me tell you.” 

Ellie and Dina look at one another and roll their eyes, “Mmhm. I doubt it’ll be that. Or bullets or TP.” 

“Such a Negative Nancy. Seriously though...anyone have any idea what the hell this is all about? We have the Christmas Tree lighting ceremony this Saturday so I’m hoping they won’t tell us we ran outta Douglas Firs. Or Spruce-something or other. I don’t know. I’m tired.” 

Jesse pauses and cracks his neck, then smooths a mitted palm over it. 

“Long day?” Dina’s beside him, her eyes kind and far warmer towards the man than the last time Ellie saw them. Something’s changed in the few days since the dance. Since their kiss. She’ll make a point to ask about it later. Maybe. 

“Not bad. Joel, phew, that guy. He’s got more stamina than I do and I’m less than half his damn age. Ellie, I don’t know how you ever kept up with him.” 

Ellie snorts and pulls her chin into her chest, pretends to blow hot air into two sheathed, albeit freezing, hands. “I managed. I mean, I was a spritely little shit and kept him on his toes, lest he forgets that. He should be thanking me, is what it sounds like. I keep him young. And in that same vein of thought, sorry, Jesse.” 

The quad laughs and Max playfully pushes Jesse’s shoulder. Silence descends upon the group as they round the corner and discover the big repurposed warehouse with a small line of Jackson’s citizens waiting out front. 

“The fuck. There’s a line. In the apocalypse how are there still lines?” Jesse grumbles and kicks his boots this way and that to warm up his extremities. 

“Appears so. Anyone have any booze?” 

“Y’all talkin’ ‘bout booze at four pm on a Thursday?” 

Joel saunters by just then and Ellie catches his gaze, smiles at the rosy sheen of his cheeks and the lighthearted rapport with her friends. Her stomach dances a spell but not from tension or aggravation like before. Now it’s from...something else. 

“It’s fucking cold, Joel!” 

“Well, c’mon now. I reckon I can smuggle y’all in. I’m sorta tight with a few of the council members.” He smirks and places a hand on her shoulder, then ushers Jesse, Dina and Max to walk ahead of them. 

“Do you know anything about this today, Joel? I know I asked you last night but...it just feels, I don’t know, out of left field – if that’s the correct use of context.” 

He nods and slides his hand across to the opposite shoulder, “I don’t know what it’s all ‘bout. Tried to wiesel a detail or two from Tommy this mornin’ but he’s more tight lipped than I am, that little shit.” 

Ellie sighs and leans into him, happy that he’s there and happy he’s warm and alive and they’re on the right road again. She’s slept at his place every night this week, and every night she’s woken up in sweat and tears and he’s there to guide her back to a safe harbor. With his arms, his weight, his breath. And his jokes. He’s far funnier than she’s ever given him credit for and secretly, she can’t get enough. Is also a little suspicious as to where he’s learning all these jokes but she’ll save that for later when the dust settles and this new normal is just their normal. 

Secretly hopes the nightmares start to ebb while the nights continue to flow. 

“Should we be worried about anything? You don’t think they’re gonna out me about… _ya know_ ,” Ellie asks, her eyes looking south to her right forearm. If she possessed the ability of X-Ray vision, Joel knows she would be peering directly at mangled skin through her jacket, through her clothes, beneath the tattoo and the chemical burn. The Secret. 

“No.” He stops and waves the others forward, to continue on without them a moment. He pulls her from the crowd and into the blistering wind tunnel off to the side of the cement structure. It whips and howls here, which is perfect for this conversation. 

“You _never_ have to worry ‘bout that. No one but you, me, Tommy an’ Maria know ‘bout it. Tommy and Maria’ll take it to their graves an’ you know I’d...well, you know.” He squeezes her biceps and squares his jaw, “You good?” 

She swallows and works at unfurling the worry that's taking root in her. She lets it leak one deep breath at a time as she steels herself and steps into his space. Ellie twines both arms around his center and lays her ear to his chest. She can’t hear his heart through the layers but she knows it’s there, knows how strong and steady and reliable it is. 

Knows she can’t wait to press her head to it later tonight and fall asleep so contentedly. Until...well, she doesn’t want to think about the ‘untils’ right now. 

“I’m good.” 

He rubs her back before he moves apart from the girl, feels the slight drag on her posture as he does this. Hates that it’s because of that cursed night terror that won’t quit. 

“C’mon. Let’s see what all this hubbub is ‘bout.”

††††

Joel is occupying an end seat in the front row – orchestrated by Tommy and Maria. They left a tag on the metal chair with his initials on it signaling that _that_ spot wasn’t up for debate for any other townsfolk. He idly wonders why.

As he waits for the council members to start whatever this is, Joel feels a tinge of disappointment that he’s not beside Ellie, especially after that brief wrangling alarm in respect to her bite. 

Unfortunately for him however, when Dina and the others entered the building, they sequestered just enough mismatched chairs for the four of them and no more. 

Joel gets it, of course. _Still._

Ellie is grumpy at this, too, finding it sort of rude that Maria didn’t once think to place her next to Joel; she knows it’s likely because the woman isn’t clear on the state of their relationship these days. A few folks have made notes that things seem to be improving but they’re not privy to the why or how fast it’s all happening. 

Ellie thinks everyone can go fuck themselves because it’s none of their business anyway. 

He turns to catch a glimpse of her; she’s five or so rows back – another thing that makes no sense in Joel’s brain, or hers, but again, that’s for later – and she’s wearing the most apprehensive expression he’s ever seen. Her skin shines paler than any winter he’s ever known and the green in her eyes appears militant and mossy.

The bite. He knows a part of this girl might yet believe this could all revolve around the Runner bite and that instinctual distrust gnaws at him something fierce. He could calm, reassure and trample the fear that keeps bleeding into her like a poisoned wine but unless she believes it, it won’t ever take. 

He gives a quick side smile as Maria finally settles at the Jackson Council table and taps a dent-riddled microphone. 

“Is this thing on?” 

The crowd of three hundred or so souls responds with a low rumble of laughter. The leader of their community always starts the same way and an ease instantly blankets a pocket of high-strung Jacksonians. Ellie’s included in that mix. 

“Well, hello everybody. I know it’s close to Christmas and we have a bunch of community-driven activities that are planned and right around the corner, so I know this meeting might feel a little...out of place. Let me first affirm that the Tree Lighting Ceremony, the Christmas Lights Festival _slash_ Home Decorating Competition and of course, the Ho-Ho-Hoedown are all still on the docket. We hope to see everyone at each of those events and your lovely homes all glitzy, too. Some of y’all get wildly creative and we look forward to it every single year! Also, make sure you dress properly because we’re prepping for some major storms over the next few weeks. Like always during this time of year.” 

She leverages her breaths a moment and peeks to a thrown-together pile of papers between her hands. She bounces a pen back and forth on the flank of her thumb and picks at a crusty pie crumb from the late lunch she ate earlier. Tommy is sitting beside her, looking at his wife warmly, while the other council members – Rosa, Rhoda and Terrence – all wear similar outward appearances. 

Everyone seems happy. 

She clears her throat with a slight cough, “Okay now that I’ve gone through all that, I wanna pause and open the room to any questions before we move on to why y’all are here for this. Minus the patrol crews and tower personnel. Whom we’ve already scheduled a separate session for once they’re off shift.” 

Maria folds her hands and peers around the expansive open room. There’s faded paint peeling on every surface and cracks littering the cement floor in abundance; she’s been meaning to assign a crew to each of these as a start to its remodel but...it’s slim pickings as of late. 

She peeks up as the silence from her community stretches on; sees exposed I-beams that appear sound and solid but she knows the roof outside of those is in poor shape. Another to-do that’s been nagging and becoming progressively more cumbersome as the winter months, and years, pass by. 

This exact warehouse was Ground Zero when Jackson first formed almost fifteen years ago. This building kept the original group of post-apocalyptic settlers safe and under her and her father’s charge. After a while, she believed it best to keep the original structure but build the town up and around it. So far it’s proven to be one of her better plans all these years on. 

“So, questions?” 

Joel scratches an eyebrow and leans forward in his seat a bit; a metal bracing squeals, filling hushed air with a swift but true pierce that betrays the collective anticipation. He doesn’t want to burn time on questions about what sort of berries can be used for decorating versus baking. He just wants to get to the heart of the matter and see Ellie’s internal mess put to an ease. 

Right when he thinks they might be in the clear, a younger woman with long blond hair rises and raises a tentative arm. Beth Fleurs. He sighs. Of course it would be Beth. 

“Actually, about the Ho-Ho-Hoedown...is it ugly Christmas sweater only? Or can we find formal wear and make it a little...special?” She’s sitting a few people apart from Joel and as he angles to see what she’s on about that a town-wide meeting is being held up, she makes eye contact with him. And smiles. Damn near bats her eyelashes. 

The older Miller shifts away and all but rolls his eyes. He won’t disrespect her like that, not so openly at least. He grumbles something under his breath as he grimaces, mindlessly touching a patch of his beard to avoid the obviousness of that woman’s stare. 

If God came down from His pearly perch at that exact moment and told Joel he could take him away to the chorus of Angels, he thinks he might very well acquiesce. He feels others’ glares as well and wonders what the hold up is on Council high. Tommy finally puts him out of his misery with a curt laugh, “I suppose y’all are free to go with either. But no daily or work-wear. We wanna make this fun an’ holidays are worth goin’ big for.” 

Beth sits with a big smile on her pale, frost-nipped face. 

Ellie has a mind to stab that woman and can’t quite figure out why. 

“Any more questions?” 

The room remains peaceful and Maria knows it’s time to get on with it. She looks to Tommy, Rosa, Terrence and Rhoda to affirm whatever silent agreement it is she needs to press onward – she isn’t left wanting. They each nod in unison, each offering a small smile in turn. 

“Go on,” Tommy whispers, his face turned away from the mic and the crowd. That was just for his wife. It’s rare she seeks anything outside community approval and so this wavering of confidence is enough for him to pick up the slack. Happily so. 

“Y’all know who I am. I shoot straight, I tell it like it is and I don’t play games. So I won’t do that here today. We’re gonna talk about Jackson’s population numbers. First, Jackson _is_ doing okay. We got a good system in place with experts in just about every field to help keep us running. Our security has never been better, our barns are full, our fields are rich. We’ve got weapons, ammo and all the fixings we’d ever need for you molotov fiends out there – you know who you are. But what we don’t have, or rather what we’re losing, is people.” 

A murmur vibrates through the crowd as folks fidget in place; some crack their knuckles, others tilt their heads in curiosity while a handful more cough or sniff without realizing how distracting the symphony of their movements are. 

Maria bounces the pen.  
Tommy crosses his arms. 

Joel pinches his brow.  
Ellie digs both of her cold hands into a puffy coat. 

“So, me and the council have been figuring on how to properly and safely increase our numbers. Before we get into that, I wanna say this much: Our meeting today will be the first. Over the next couple of months we will hold several public forums and hope everyone that is here today will join us again at those. Because we all trust in transparency. And I’ve always believed in providing power to the people. Especially given how so many of us were forced to live under the tyranny of Fedra after Outbreak Day.” 

Joel swallows and gazes south to his folded hands. Thinks they’re looking old and weathered. Thinks the last twenty-five years have gone by in a blink. Thinks of Sarah. 

Maria breaks and flips a few pages before clicking her tongue absentmindedly. Stoic. Reserved. Weary. 

The next bit will tackle the direct cause for all her lousy sleep the past few weeks. Her townsfolk will either hate her and hightail it right through the front gates, or an even greater sense of unity will happen. Or somewhere in the middle. 

Maria Miller has a strong distaste for the color gray. 

“And so with that, there will be a Mandate put into effect. Once details are ironed out and we arrive at some form of collective beneficence, we will officially enact, and enforce, this Mandate.” She exhales the full weight of every soul in this building and then begins to read from a loose script, “So this is where we’re headed: We pose that all _able-bodied_ women and men who are in committed relationships, or otherwise able to work out proper consent and means, are to consider procreating. If you fall into that category but choose _not_ to have a child, you will be required to go beyond the walls for three weeks every other month on SSPs – Scout and Supply Patrols. These will allow you to bring any important or necessary restock back to Jackson while also vetting any _small_ groups of travelers along the way. Of course we will have strict quarantine and probationary periods for all new potential citizens but those details will be padded out much later.”

She stops to give herself a wide berth as the crowd falls soundless in her wake. Maria scans the room looking for anyone familiar and she settles onto Joel: It’s a mistake. He looks as if he’s caught sight of a ghost he’s been meaning to kill for the past decade or so. His jaw is so tight she fears he’ll crack his teeth, his fingers squeezing so hard, she’s fully expecting to hear the echo of broken bones throughout the muted air. 

She’s done looking. 

“We also understand and have taken into account the many extenuating circumstances that may prevent some folks from taking part in either of these – we’ve tried to consider all facets. Again, this is just the first public meeting. There will be one held every week after the first of January. There will be incentives, as well. Because of the surplus of supplies we’ve managed to maintain, each household and family will receive a monthly stipend of their choosing. Again, that’s another bullet point of this very substantial Mandate that we’ll ask your input on at a later time.” 

Joel rubs his beard and lets his head hang in an attempt to field his fury. He stares at his boots, his jeans and the fraying bits of his flannel shirt (the same one Ellie slept in the other night) – he stares at everything but his sister-in-law ahead and the young woman a few lengths behind. 

_He’s_ able-bodied.  
So is _Ellie._

Fuck. 

Joel twists his eyes shut. He understands why Tommy’s been so skittish now. Why the younger Miller’s done an Olympic job at avoiding his concerns about today and dodging his dinner invites. 

He should have known about this. _They_ should have told him. Hell, they should have told him _and_ Ellie together.

“We have a lot more to get through before this wraps, but please know that we’re aware of how divisive and complicated this is. But our town will not survive another fifteen years if we don’t take any drastic measures _now._ Those are the facts.”

Joel cranes his neck and resigns himself; he’ll listen to this hellspeak that looms like an enormous shadow but his mental processes have all but ceased firing. He knows as soon as this charade concludes and the surrounding space empties, he will purposely sit right where he is and wait. Wait until his brother walks to him and starts a conversation they should have long shared by now. 

Yes. 

Joel will wait and then break Tommy’s goddamn jaw the second he opens it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh. *hides* Things are about to take a sharp left turn in Jackson...and with Joel and Ellie, me thinks. 
> 
> That said, I was and still am very nervous about this chapter installment! The idea of this fic started originally with: "They have to have a baby somehow," and then morphed into a Mandate that was far more rigid and strict than what I've presented here. And who’s to say what will or won’t happen now, what with the rules so bendy. Still, because the journey will be so, so long and because people and babies are beautiful creatures that should be handled as delicately as our hearts, I needed to rework and refine the concept into something that I hope is believable. Something that will have my fingers bleeding from the amount of typed words. 
> 
> So, given the circumstances of the world they live in, (in 2037 – this is December, remember!), it's certainly not out of the realm of possibility. Hell, even governments today (that care for their populous) offer incentives to families with x amount of children. More on the Mandate to come...
> 
> And that's it for chapter 4! Come back for Chapter 5 soon as we start to head into more uncharted waters. 
> 
> Also: we hate Beth already, don't we? ;)


	5. & Risking Ruin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joel and Ellie deal with the immediate aftermath of Mandate Meeting 1 and the fight with Tommy. They're riddled with emotions and left confused and lost as to which way this should all go. But are they saying what needs to be said? There's a breakfast, a trip to the stables and the start of a ride to Teton County.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A day late AGAIN! But...this one was a beast of burden, I'll admit. It's long, it's heavy and it's full to the brim of nuances, tension, emotion and things to come. 
> 
> Also, heed the updated tags and rating for this fic. More notes at the close..

“Do you feel better after knocking him around, Joel?” Flecks of emerald glitter in the low light of his bathroom but the girl's voice sounds tired and weary; she dips a torn piece of cloth into a wash basin and gives it a tight squeeze. Ellie grimaces as diluted bubbles float to the surface and break apart at their end; a tint of salmon spreads throughout the lukewarm pool of liquid, the color light but very much there. 

She twitches as a stray droplet of red sinks like a broken heart, disintegrating and holding less and less of its former shape as it descends into the murk. 

Ellie’s never been one for blood but her distaste for it after days of unnerving nightmares is akin to an uninvited garden guest after a torrential rainfall. She wants to rip it out or put it back into the ground where it belongs. Wants so much to put it back into him so that she doesn’t have to see it anymore. Not ever from him. 

Every time she taps the wound and it swells with fresh drops of scarlet, there’s this sense of a wicked thing tormenting her. As though a wraith is tethering itself to the very spines of her soul – she feels its darkness closing in and the agency of her power leaching with every bit of his loss. Drops or liters, it doesn’t matter. It’s all loss. 

All she can do, or rather what she allows herself to do, is wince and try to avert any rising tides. So the girl sucks in meager lungfuls of air as she continues on, dabbing the split lip delicately, wearing a stoic reverence even Joel can’t quite name. Or is too fearful to name. 

Through all of this, he’s given little to no reaction. Neither to the pain itself nor the stinging aftermath that comes with each press of her attentiveness. She realizes then that he’s barely said more than two words since they came home. And those words were, and she quotes, “Fuck them.” 

Still, the broken skin isn’t that deep, but it is a new mark for his upper lip, a clearly defined slice through a patch of his mustache. When she stares at it – all swollen and dark and cruel – the sight takes her out of this room, out of the quiet warmth they’re sharing and into the black hole of a chilling memory: one of the many injuries Joel sustained from the night terror looked exactly like this. Same spot, only less severe in real life, thankfully. 

That other laceration came when his mouth had been hit so hard by a fucking golf club that not only was his lip mangled, but a part of his facial hair was torn right off. 

She winces again, but not from his fluids this time. 

“No.” 

“What?”

“You asked me if I felt better for knockin’ that boy ‘round. No. I don’t.” 

“Figured. You never do.”

He sighs, clears his throat and catches their reflections in the spotty mirror behind the girl. Sees her kneeling in front of him, the petite form situated in the v of his legs as she expertly tends to his brother’s lucky one-off. Joel attempts to avoid – and fails – at watching all of her; her hips and the firm roundness of her backside as she tilts and bends, the muscles in her lower back and triceps that move and shift as she works. 

She’s beautiful, he’s always seen that, but now it’s a beauty that’s revealing something more.

He remains uncertain as to whether he wants to recover from whatever distortion the last few days have led him to believe. Can’t seem to understand _any_ of it but with this Mandate looming on the horizon, he’s afraid of just about everything at present. Afraid to hurt her, afraid to feel too much, afraid of losing her again, and more than afraid of this girl not feeling the same way, should he dare to confront this...pressing issue (there’s simply no way she ever could). 

To top it all off, there’s this idea of a baby or the road lingering between them, which introduces a whole new set of sentiments – individually for him – and personally for them. Still, Joel doesn’t have a single inkling as to where Ellie’s head is at with this, but given the announcement and the fight and a week of broken, perplexing sleep, he’s hit his limits. 

Looking at her isn’t helping so he averts his gaze to anything else in the bathroom; his sink, shaving cream, the towels and sheets piled on the shelves. But it doesn't last long – how could it?

His eyes shift to the bowl of water on the floor by his foot; he watches the rippling crimson as she submerges and lifts her hand in a habitual pattern. They’ve been in this position before together, although it’s been quite a while since their last go-around. And even then, no matter who had the injury, she was never so...resolutely between his thighs and near to him. 

Joel swallows. Redirects for what must be the thousandth time. 

He remembers that day well and can recall with unease and clarity the moment he found out Ellie had caught the flank of a broadhead arrow against a bicep. It was an accident, of course, but Joel all but hammered Cedric into the side of the stables when the girl showed up bloodied but unbothered. What was worse was that she was mad at _him_ for his flash of anger and the threats he delved out to that idiot with half a brain in his punk head. 

Of course, there was cause for her reaction: this happened during the early days after their fallout from Salt Lake; they hadn’t spoken much since, just terse hi’s and byes from her and the occasional patrol run together which was often met with icy silence or awkward stammering. 

But that day Joel didn’t give two shits about anything other than helping her. And he did. He damn near had to drag her by the hand to his house, where he sat her at his table and proceeded to clean, stitch and then cook for her. 

Those were _his_ terms and Ellie had been too exhausted to fight with him. Too exhausted to fully ignore him either. He remembers offering pain medication to ease the ache in her arm and it took a while, but finally she gave in. Antibiotics, too. 

She left shortly after their meal, barely making eye contact but appreciative of his taking care of her well-being. That was the last time they were in a manner such as the one they’re in now. 

He hisses at an especially strong bout of pain but it serves to return him to the here and now.

“Sorry,” Ellie whispers, momentarily tucking her bottom lip beneath her front teeth.

Joel quietly observes the scene that’s unfolding, looking closely at her knitting brows and a stern set to her mouth that rivals some of his best – but there’s no anger in those features. Only concern. And something else. He thinks to fold a towel and slide it underneath her bones so she can rest comfortably as the cleansing proceeds, but he can’t seem to focus on the right words and speak this care aloud. 

So he resigns to sit on the porcelain edge of the bathtub, and stare at everything but those ocean-deep eyes of hers and the tiny freckles that dance atop her pale skin. 

This distraction works for a while. 

The space around and between them is warm and the world outside is still – more snow is falling, blanketing the discontent of Jackson with an orchestra of silence. In here there’s only the sounds of water droplets and their breath and his heart. Joel feels the steadfast _thump-thump_ inside the cage of his person and wonders if she can hear it, too. Wonders if hers is following a similar cadence that they may share common ground upon. _If_ he opens up and says something, says anything. 

Regardless, the room, the scene, her physical presence – all of it would be far more hypnotizing in that unfamiliar way if his thoughts weren’t an overall mess with what’s taken root the last hour or so. Mess of his emotions towards her and the disaster at the Town Hall. 

He grumbles at the thought. 

A flame burns so hot and bright over Maria, Tommy and the rest of the Council’s Mandate that it’s filling Joel to the brim; his corded muscles firing like live wires and tension lines running him through shock by shock. His body can do nothing but tremble from the adrenaline and an acrid permeating taste of it all. 

He thinks of the admonishment and curses he hissed to his brother, thinks of his fists, too. Thinks of all the words he _didn’t_ yet have the chance to say to his brother. There are many words that need to be said but with Ellie, Maria and the remaining Council members watching and listening – before separating the two grown men – it simply wasn’t the time. 

“Almost done.” 

“Mmhm.” 

“You gonna talk with me at all tonight?” 

Joel considers the prompt, gives the girl a once over – again – and reaches for her wrists. He wraps his hands to them and holds her still, massages the warm runoff into her skin as he considers what should come next. Knows he must hold himself steady and accountable. 

He pushes her arms away measurably but without force. 

“I think it might be better if we don–”

“If we don’t talk about the Mandate and how I have to choose between a baby or potential death while on the road again? Don’t talk about that, you mean?” Ellie takes back her arms and lets the rag loose, the rest of her rising in haste. 

The soaking-wet cloth falls into the basin with a muffled _ploomp_ , splashing water and the remnants of Tommy’s one-shot onto Joel’s socks and the side of the tub. 

“Ellie–”

 _“Joel.”_

She dries her palms by digging them into the aged fabric of her fitted jeans, both eyes going wide with every second they stare at one another in a charged silence. 

“Maybe we should jus’ get some sleep.” He wants to reach for her, wants to tell her that everything will be okay, that he won’t allow anyone to force anything onto her, so long as he’s alive and drawing breath. Wants to but the state of their world appears a lot more uncertain than it did only a few hours prior. Hell, the state of his relationship with _everyone_ appears uncertain, more like. 

The girl crosses both arms to her chest and shivers – the once tepid and pleasant space is now cold and woeful in ways her body is unable to adequately adapt to. She bites her bottom lip in consternation, focus lost to a thread of thinking that neither of them would dare try to utter in the open. 

“Should I go? I should probably go.” 

Ellie turns on a heel and makes for the exit but only gets as far as his bedroom door when an arm circles around her waist from behind.

“No, I–I dunno what to say, Ellie. This ain’t ever anythin’ I coulda dreamt up.” 

The girl lets herself be halfway held but keeps her limbs languid and to her sides for the moment. She’s not mad at him, instead she’s angry at the world and caught too tight to the tunnel vision of what this new future may look like. 

He pulls just enough for her to know what he needs this time and she gives in. Of course she does, taking into account all that he’s been doing for her these past five or so days. These past five or so years, really.

Ellie leans against Joel and slides a palm the length of his forearm to grip knowingly, reassuringly, before continuing onward. She finds his hand placed at the small curve where her hip meets her middle and she swallows. The feeling of him in _this_ way is something she never wants to lose, never wants to take for granted or abandon or let down. 

She weaves her fingers into his and swallows, absorbs his solid structure for how beautifully sound and resolute it is – the only foundation and the only home she’s ever known in her sad, sorry life. 

She’s careful not to nick the fresh scabs that are forming on his knuckles – the ones she has yet to clean – and it’s a reminder of the scuffle with his sibling that was definitely not long enough ago. But as she takes in every scar, every hardened, calloused and weather-struck inch of his skin, there’s a whisper on her lips saying it’s not enough. She won’t ask for more, not with a voice she knows will sound dreadfully infirm and unsure. 

Still, if her voice cannot be trusted, then she will take to the familiar roads she’s always traveled. No, the girl won’t forgo the immediate and vivid imagination that arises with this overflow of sensation as a result. Doesn’t want to. 

Ellie’s always reveled in the gift that is her lush, overactive fantasy-mind; she would go to space and back again when she was younger, or imagine both parents by her side whenever something worthy of praise and accomplishment was deemed appropriate. She’s lived and died a thousand lifetimes apart from the one that’s her own and while she attributes some of this to her love of novels and adventure, she also blames childhood neglect in tandem. The girl has had to fill the empty holes of her life to make up for what she’s lacking, so it’s no surprise that she finds herself doing that here, tonight. 

But that history plays no role, and so she forces those ghouls away for a later time. She can only hope it’s forever. 

She grips tighter and Joel squeezes her a bit harder and with it comes a slight growl as paper-thin skin on one of his knuckles reopens. 

“Sorry, Joel,” she mumbles, still silently crying out for more, still wanting to sink into the unreality of whatever her heart is telling her to feel. 

It works. 

An image of their slow movements erupts in her, this mental portrait rushing on like waves giving life to a drought-stricken seabed; she glimpses their fingers, their hands, even their air joining together in tendrils of endless color. It’s changing into this fine, vibrant fabric, woven by the very atoms that created every suspending star that lives far, far above them. 

Ellie thinks that they’re crafting a tapestry with no name. She smiles at this and holds tighter still. 

The girl presses her thoughts to the limit, shutting out the room, the walls, the roof, the stairs – pushing it all away and honing her attention onto how her heart is beating right now. At how beautiful this wild and unforeseen painting of two lost souls appears – at how it _feels_ to know it’s seeping farther and farther into her marrow. 

It’s as though this, or the bones of it, have existed long before either of them were even born. 

Joel steps in and pushes his front to her rear and it’s all they can do to exorcise any feral ghosts that may linger, thus risking ruin. _Whatever_ this is that could be ruined, anyway. He’s afraid of how much he can read her, of how much he wants to give – especially that last. 

It’s a dread made even more obvious given the events of tonight _and_ the past few nights. It’s not altogether the same but they’re not wholly separate from one another either. Which is worrisome to a degree that he’s not taken to all that well. 

Yet, despite every alarm bell sounding in his head, Joel brings his other arm around to enfold her, enveloping Ellie as though she’s always meant to be here, with him. Just like this. No more, no less. 

He smiles sadly when she mirrors his hug and turns her face into his shirt. They remain there, standing at his doorway, holding and being held and not wanting a single thing to happen beyond this. 

Ellie breaks the reverie: “You should let me patch your hands, Joel. You’re about to drip onto my jeans.” 

He doesn’t say anything for a spell, doesn’t move either, just keeps himself to her as he presses his nose and forehead to the side of her throat. 

His breath is hot and unsteady as she waits for what’s to come next, waits for his reply or denial of care-taking. The girl thinks to the other night in bed when she thought his lips had grazed her; she wasn’t sure so she makes a point to pay attention now, hopes it happens again but isn’t sure as to why this is so. She releases an arm and sifts through his hair, palms his beard and tugs on his ears – she needs to reassure herself that all is still right in this world, regardless of what lies beyond. It’s her grounding tactic, her buoy, a lighthouse.

He sways them a half-measure but it’s not quite like slow _slow_ dancing. It’s closer in line to him deciding something, pondering at a snail's pace. She likes it all the same. He sighs as she rubs his scalp and moves in tandem, their bodies in sync and hers vibrating with light. 

Still, he’s too quiet, even for him. 

“Joel?” 

A woeful exhalation and, “Don’t worry none ‘bout my hands, girl. I’m good. But I...I think maybe I oughta sleep downstairs tonight. I’ll come up if anythin’ goes sideways, but, Ellie. This-” Joel pauses as her lithe form goes rigid against him, “-is a whole new everythin’. I gotta adjust. Can’t keep up, if I’m bein’ honest.” 

The last frames of Ellie’s fantasy recede to a shadowy world of ice and neglect – where her parents and outer space and every other grandiose mental meandering now resides. Her stomach drops a canyon-length alongside her wandering limb but she steals herself before he can fully note the shift in her demeanor. 

So she tilts her face towards the mouth that just spoke _those_ words to her, “Okay, but I am cleaning your hands first.”

His skull moves infinitesimally as he closes his hazels, not willing or able to view the hurt that’s so perceptible in her tone and physicality all the sudden. He also knows that any strength he might possess in respect to her emotional shift will flee the moment he glimpses the ruby-red of her lips so close to his. 

_‘You can’t. ‘Specially not now.’_

As Ellie watches him emotionally retreat – she’s privy to all his signs – all she can do is harden herself from the frail defenses of feeling unwanted again. Unwanted by someone she cares for more than anyone else. It hits her that even at their worst and their best, she’s never felt this way with Joel; it’s all so new that her reaction and responses are something she’s learning in real time. 

She doesn’t want to stay in his house but can’t entertain the idea of leaving. Not like this. Not when she’s tearing up from the inside out by a confusion of legendary proportions. 

“Ok, c’mon. We’ll get to sleepin’ after.”

Joel disentangles himself and makes for the bathroom without another word. 

Add to that a neglect of legendary proportions. 

His embrace gone, it feels as if snow is falling directly onto her face; the bite of the frozen Wyoming air is no longer encumbered by reliable panes of glass and trustworthy walls but rather free to reign. Those same necessities that, until a few moments ago, were managing her warmth and offering a wholeness beyond any quantifiable means. 

But the chill that creeps into the place he’s left is already masking her in a shroud of cold, lining Ellie’s veins with blue fire and an endless regret. She feels foolish but more so, childish, cut down to size and feeling as though she’s uprooting bulbs that have only just been planted. 

So many unknown feelings, so many of them emanating from the same source – the spark.

She purses her lips, scratches her cheek and inhales purposefully. 

Idly, the girl prays to no one and nothing that this will be the first on her own without any of those nightmares. 

Another sickly stone of fear and doubt drops in her gut and she knows, she _knows_ tonight will be worse than any that’s come prior. But she won’t share that with him. Not right now.

††††

“I’m–I’m just gonna go sleep in my...sleep in the garage tonight.”

“Ellie, it’s a damn blizzard outside an’ that garage been cold for days now. You’ll freeze while waitin’ for those dinky space heaters to catch up to ya.” 

“No, I’ve had one running since earlier. Don’t want the pipes or water to freeze. Plus I got...stuff in there that extreme cold will fuck up, ya know? Consoles and s-such.” 

“Mmhm. Those same consoles that sat for twenty-plus years alongside the extreme elements that seem to be workin’ just fine?” 

“Yep. See, you get it. Anyway, goodnight, Joel.” 

Ellie spins abruptly and slinks through the doorway, faster than the last, just in case he tries to stop her again. She’s not wanting to feel _this_ hurt anymore, not after the euphoria of being so close to _him_. Not after the gut-wrenching rejection despite the fact that she herself hasn’t taken too narrow a look at said ignition that keeps lighting inside of her like a testament. 

“Ellie, you don’t hav–” 

“No, it’s cool, Joel. I’ll see you tomorrow for breakfast at the Tipsy Bison? 6 am?” She barely peeks over as the flimsy invite is spat out into the pregnant emptiness between them. She doesn’t wait but instead takes the steps two at a time until she meets the landing. 

Cold, impersonal. _Almost_ what the past two or so years felt like for him. 

He follows her down the staircase, not about to let the girl traipse off into the wintry wild night on her own. Not ready to be without her. Again. 

Joel finds her kneeling in the front walkway, slipping her boots on in earnest. She’s hastily trying to tie them but when he gets nearer and she catches his eye, Ellie panics, rises and stumbles towards the coat rack. “Fucker,” she mutters under her breath, shoving her arms into the weighty thing as though she were punching a teddy bear. 

“Ellie.” 

He’s by her side and gains a handle on her shoulders to first still the girl, then slides his arm south and covers her palm with his. They wait with their hands atop the doorknob, the surrounding darkness and the whipping sound of northern air echoing on the other end of his door. Joel waits for the right words to come, waits for the right inflection to deliver them gently and without accusation or implication. 

“Please stay.” 

“Why?” It’s a whimpering noise as her hand shakes under his with shoulders pulling in on themselves. Just like they did when she came here that first night earlier in the week. It hits at his core something fierce and true, and he hates himself for it. Hates hurting her. No matter the extenuating circumstances. No matter the complications and ramifications that _could_ result from him speaking out of turn. 

“‘Cause I want you here with me. My not bein’ able to talk or sleep beside you don’t mean I don’t _want_ you here. I do.” 

A minute goes by, and then another. 

Finally Joel makes the decision for them. He reaches to unzip her jacket and turns her to face him as he does this. It’s a daring move but he knows she’s too frightened to be alone, too upset with him all the same and too tired to deal with everything else. It’s a perfect storm of one needing to weigh their options but neither has the capacity to do that well tonight. 

But there is one thing he _can_ do that’s right, “Please? I’ll stay upstairs with ya. I’m sorry if I made you feel...I’m sorry.” He darts his eyes to the stairs and offers her a side smile of the smallest caliber. 

“Okay. But we do need to talk about...the Mandate soon. I already know what I’m gonna do. Just want to know where you’re at.”

Joel’s brow pinches as his curiosity piques – he wants to inquire but won’t. Not on this night. 

They need to rest and rest fully at that. And this is IF her terrors allow them to sleep soundly. 

“C’mon,” he says, hanging her puffy coat back onto its hook and kneeling down to work on her boots. 

“Joel, I can do that.” 

“So can I.” 

She twines a palm into the place that represents her peace, breathes a sound that can only be relief and closes her emeralds. Ellie falls into the present as best she can, giving herself over in the hopes of having a better night than she otherwise might have.

††††

_Heavy-lidded hazels look down at the girl squatting between his knees. Her mouth is full of him, her hands, too. Slippery sounds of wet and want fill the lodge’s room from corner to corner. They’re not quiet, they never are. He doesn’t care._

_He hits the back of her throat and grunts...and then she takes him a little farther still. “Fuck,” he growls, all ten toes pulling up towards his ankles as she brings him closer to the razors edge._

_Two seams of mossy-green rise to capture his – he knows she’s in the mood to play games but is serious about her efforts all the same. There’s a mischievous mirth that lives there, a wickedness to worry but it turns him on to the point of pain. He likes that. Cock so hard and balls so full he feels every beat of his heart with every pass of her tongue._

_She pulls him out of her fucked-red lips, gathers a bulk of her own spit and coats her palms and fingers generously. The liquid is thick and drippy, just the way she likes._

_A freshly-slick hand encircles him while her other ventures south between the glistening folds to tease an achingly empty hole._

_“Ya playin’ with yourself, girl?” he manages to get out, the stirrings of an orgasm tightening the muscles in his lower back at the mere idea of it._

_She laps the head of him and sucks in a leaking droplet of pre-come, “Mmm...tastes so good,” she whispers, before going in for more. The girl continues on...teasing, stroking, squeezing and releasing in a chaotic rhythm she knows he loves. His dick bobs there a moment as she licks only the tip, her hands elsewhere. She cups and slightly bounces her full tits with both eyes on him as she takes his cock a half-inch at a time. Slow, so very slow._

_“G’dammit, woman.” He reaches into a mess of auburn and feels the red all but burn his skin._

_It won’t be long._

_A hand returns to grip him just a little harder while her other travels south again, smoothing over a swollen belly; she slaps her clit one-two times before she catches him trying to bend forward a measure._

_“Fuckin’ hell...that sounds good. I wanna see.” He tries to get a better angle but she goes down on his cock and bottoms out and he can’t do anything but lean against the seats rear cushion._

_“Holy...wha’ in the...fuck...”_

_She pays herself a few more smacks and then pushes two fingers into her boiling, drooling pussy. His woman goes on to mumble something he can’t discern – it doesn’t matter – but feels the tension line sparking wild and uncontrollable by the vibrations of her throat._

_“Oh, fuck, jus’ like that.”  
He heaves in air and claws the arms of the chair in desperation.  
“Baby–I...gonna–I’m comin–”_

Joel shoots awake and stares at the ceiling as he struggles to place himself. He rises in an uncoordinated series of jerky motions and flattens a palm to his heart; normally he can never recall his dreams but tonight, he remembers clearly what it was that led him to the state he’s in. 

He doesn’t need to lift the duvet to know the current situation in his sweatpants. 

Nevertheless, Joel palms his erection and immediately sighs at the dryness that greets him. He hisses, too, from the meager attention he’s just paid, wonders idly when was the last time he’s taken care of that. He releases himself, exhales a great plume of air and shakes his head in relief; the dream was intense but he didn’t actually come like an inexperienced young buck who can’t control himself. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, rubbing his eyes and stifling the arousal as best he’s able. 

_‘Oh fuck – **Ellie.** ’_

He directs his view to the girl that’s sleeping beside him and finds her snoring softly. She’s not faking it – he would know. After nearly six nights spent so close to one another and all the miles they put on the road behind them, Joel is more than aware of how this girl sleeps and when she’s not. 

He takes her in and begs for a camaraderie with the quiet of the room, begs that it may calm his fervor. It doesn’t. 

She’s on her stomach, a leg bent, an arm under her pillow and that long auburn hair spread wild and unkempt across gray linen. He thinks it looks like a bonfire that’s lighting up all the world. Moves on from there. Her flannel – _his_ – rides low on her neck and a shoulder and he wants so much to kiss her there. Knows it would be soft and warm, similar to the inside of that mouth from his explicit dream and yet alluringly different all the same.

 _‘Fuck, maybe someone should bash my damn head in.’_

The man thinks a beat as he weighs his options; if he slips downstairs to take care of his situation, he’ll be far enough away that she won’t hear him coming (or going). But if she has a nightmare and he isn’t here, that could spell embarrassment and show a whole new side of himself to her. Pretty much the _last_ side. 

Though which way that might end up is anyone’s guess at this point. 

Joel knows something _is_ happening between them but the extent or the intent has yet to expose itself. Mainly due to the fact that neither he nor Ellie have done much in the way of discussing things outside of food, movies, patrols and her nightmare. During the day, it mostly feels normal, or whatever this new standard has become for them _after_ their alienation, that is. 

But nighttime is...a whole new undertaking. They’re so intertwined and connected that he sometimes can’t perceive where he stops and she begins. 

“Joel?” 

Shit. 

“‘S alright, get to sleep. Go on now,” he drawls, smiling at her as she looks up through sleep-laden eyes. 

“You ok?” 

“Mmhm, jus’ a dream is all. I’m good.” He pulls the flannel up to cover her shoulder, his fingertip dragging along the bare skin as it travels. She lays down at that and snuggles into the softness that awaits and drifts away. 

He gently rubs the base of her neck for a few moments, then dances his touch down the tiny spokes of her spine to let his hand rest on the small of it. 

His cock is soft now and his heart rate is pumping at a healthy pace but he doesn’t want to forget the vividness of everything that’s left for him to recall. Feels sick that he doesn’t _want_ to forget it, too. 

Joel goes supine with the resignation to relieve himself at a later time. It’s neither annoying or inconvenient, it just is. The illicit moment is gone and he needs to be here more than he needs to get himself off. 

His breaths go steady as slumber drowns the waking world into a mirage of ocean blues and murky blacks. He treads lightly but surely as he lets himself sink into its familiar depths; into the warmth of this shared space and the beautiful girl by his side, too. He doesn’t want to contemplate the days ahead, doesn’t want to imagine this changing so soon. Or ever. 

But as he’s right on the precipice of repose, a single frame of the dream resurfaces: Ellie, squat between his knees, her belly no longer taut but swollen with a life inside her. _His_ baby. 

Joel’s eyes split wide and for the second time in ten minutes, he’s thrown so far off his axis that all rational thought flees like a stalker in the night. Albeit for another reason entirely. Though not altogether separate. It’s a recognizable thread being woven through a string of fracturing pearls and he’s starting to gather the remnants and see them for what they are. 

He sits and swivels, bending his limbs at the edge of the mattress and gripping its sides to contain his inappropriate stupor. Joel watches the snowfall on the opposite side of the window in this confusing respite, all the while hearing nothing but the rhythmic cadence of Ellie’s breathing.

Though he’s never been a man to believe in dreams or premonitions and hocus pocus like that, even he can clearly link A to B without assistance. 

They’re getting _too_ close. 

With the Mandate and a mountain of words unsaid and decisions yet unmade, his subconscious has taken to marrying these newfound desires with a pressure that appears wholly unavoidable. 

_‘Gotta ease off the gas, Miller.’_

“Dammit.” 

He’s not sure why, or rather can’t choose one reason to the other, but he leaves the bed for his bathroom, shutting the door quietly behind him. He locks it. 

Ellie opens her eyes and watches as the last of it happens, hears the latch click into place; she pulls her limbs into her torso and tries to compact herself to take up as little space as she can possibly manage. She feels lesser in the midst of all this loneliness. 

A few tears slip at the remembrance of the terrifying dream – the same that’s been plaguing her night after night this week. The gruesome show was just starting another performance when she felt his exodus happen in real time. She’s grateful for his unintentional rousing but woeful given the wake of whatever brand of turmoil that’s emanating from him. 

He doesn’t return for what seems like forever but she adamantly does not go and check. Senses he needs a breather and time to himself. So she hoists the blanket closer to her chin, her lips and nose and inhales. Ellie is feeling him in everything and wondering if it’ll all be a memory by morning.

††††

“What’s the special today, Liam?” Ellie hangs from the edge of the bar-top, twisting her body at a crooked angle in the pursuit of a better view to the kitchen and her friend.

“Hush up, Williams. You wait and see.” The young, twenty-something year old catches the girl’s eye and winks as he flips a delicious mystery meat on the fryer. It sizzles and pops as grease burns away and the aroma of it is so strong, it wafts past the counter and into the Tipsy Bison’s packed dining area. 

“Screw you, man. I’m wasting away here. Stomach consuming itself. Least you can do is give a girl a hint and spare me the dramatics,” she whines, but smiles all the same. She likes Liam, always has, and they’ve gotten along well in the three years since he’s come to Jackson. He’s taller than her but not by much, with dark hair and light eyes – he’s fairly lean with a good look about him and a wit that damn near matches her own.

He laughs, swipes his fingers on the towel looped at his waist and shakes his head, “Get lost, Ellie, you’re gonna spoil the surprise.” 

“Oh, breakfast is a surprise now, is it?” She waggles her eyebrows and smiles at his exasperation, “Okay, okay. But this better be good or you’re owing me...something. A game or bullets. Just...something.” 

“Sure, sure. Absolutely will definitely get right on that.” 

Ellie hops off the metal footrest and snakes her way through the crowd to her and Joel’s table. It’s quieter than usual, despite the large number of people, but the tone isn’t as somber as she originally thought it might be. 

“What’re we eatin’ today?” Joel asks, raising a cup of chicory coffee and fighting the urge to grimace with every sip simultaneously. It’s just not the same. 

“Fucker won’t tell me. I tried, but I failed in my lofty quest.” 

Joel chuffs and licks at his teeth, the bitter taste of the brew lingering far longer than it should, “Got it. Well, I’m sure it’ll be fine and fillin’.” 

The girl rolls her eyes as she gulps a mouthful of hot water with lemon, “Fine and fillin’ ain’t exactly what I’m in the mood for, pahtner,” she mocks, doing her best Texas accent to rile the man or at the least, make him smile. She’ll take either or. 

He’s gone mostly mute since this morning and it’s unnerving to a degree that unseats Ellie. She wants to know what that _“Dammit,”_ meant and why he stalked off to the washroom like an angry thing lost to the night. Wants to know why, when he slipped in again beside her, he was spaced so far apart from her. Wants to know why he won’t keep eye contact with her for more than a few seconds at a time. She just… _wants wants wants._

“Ha ha. Not too bad a job, girl. I think you’re finally pickin’ up on it.” He pantomimes tapping a cowboy hat on his head and throws her a wink at the same. 

She giggles and shrugs her shoulders, “What can I say, some of your good habits must be rubbing off on me, old man.” 

Joel swallows at the nickname – it’s not that he minds it, more that he doesn’t know if it’s _just_ a nickname or if she really thinks of him as, in fact, an old man. 

“What? What’d I say?” Ellie quips, leaning forward on the lacquered table. 

“No, it’s noth–” 

Liam appears, in that same witchy way all servers do when awkward or tense conversations occur over a meal. In his upturned hands he’s holding a breakfast plate with a full spread: fried ham, eggs and hash browns mixed together with a side of sliced peaches.

Ellie’s eyes tumble in their sockets as she mouths a silent ‘oh my God.’ The scent is damn near heavenly; she caught Joel licking his lower lip as he all but made love to the peaches – his favorite – as he sat impatiently, priming to gulp the whole meal in one go. Men and food. Not that she has any room to talk. 

“Thanks, dude! This looks divine. Henceforth, you do _not_ owe me anything.” 

The older man peeks up at the passing comment and looks quick from Liam to Ellie and back to his dish again. He knows this guy, knows he’s Ellie’s friend and doesn’t particularly mind him, but...those sentiments were a part of the before. Before things...before this week and the other _stuff._

Joel pipes in, “Yeah, this is good. Thank ya, Liam.” It’s curt but not unkind and the younger man grins wide; appreciation from Joel goes miles in Jackson and Ellie knows everyone reacts similarly whenever he shows a modicum of emotion. She muses on how often and easy it is for her to receive that from him, how moving it is to own the key to his emotional closet. Her expression softens into a smile that spreads far and wide across her pale features. 

Liam leaves then but her happiness carries on. 

Joel gazes at the grinning girl through low lashes and his stomach sinks. He realizes that maybe he is starting to piece together all the stray and stranded bits but isn’t sound enough to reveal the frame of this structure yet. Of that he’s finally certain. Also takes a pause to remind himself that they need to ease back for the time being. Not a lot but just enough so that he’s not having salacious, cock-sucking dreams of this girl nightly. That won’t do. He won’t survive it. 

“So, are we on patrol today? I can’t remember if you said so before the meeting last night.”

The creases of his eyes cut deeper at the mention of the Town Hall and he knows he has to sideline it until they have more information and less time overall to decide what’s what. He doesn’t want to wait it out, per se, but doesn’t want to talk about it either. 

“We are. Saw it on the board earlier when I couldn’t sleep an’ went for a snowy stroll. I was supposed to be with Tommy but uh...not today. You’re stuck with me, girl. Teton County should be quiet, I reckon.” He shovels in another forkful of food and averts his tiresome hazels; to top it all off, parts of him are sore, too. His mouth, yes, but more so his hands from the minor fight he was in not twelve hours ago. 

Ellie watches Joel as he eats like his food is going the way of the dinosaurs. An apocalypse will do that to you, she guesses. But his mention of the early morning walk has her awash with a whole new batch of questions. 

She wants to know about why he thought it smart to walk in icy temperatures before sunrise, alone and without anyone knowing. Wants to ask about his bad sleep after not putting himself close to her post-bathroom. She doesn’t inquire about any of these because it’s all starting to go round and round the same sphere – she knows it, he knows it. 

Instead she opts for the lesser of two evils.

“So, the Mandate,” Ellie inserts, sipping her lukewarm water and swooshing it in her mouth for a few seconds. _‘The poor man’s mouthwash,’_ Joel once said it was. They had been in Nebraska and ran out of baking soda for over seventy-two agonizing hours. Ellie hated not being able to brush her teeth properly at least once a day so on that second evening, when her complaining reached static levels of noise in his head, Joel offered her a swig of Vodka. Told her pointedly _‘not to swallow it, girl, I swear,’_ but to just swish it around and spit it out. It wasn’t much but it did what it was repurposed for. 

Joel sputters a cough and scrutinizes the room, catching a few other Bison patrons doing their best to make it seem as though they’re not paying attention, as if they’re not waiting on what Joel Miller and Ellie Williams will say. 

They most assuredly are listening and he knows it. 

He wipes his mouth – mindful of the fresh wound – and smooths his beard with a mostly-clean cloth. He shakes his head, “Later, okay?” 

It’s not up for debate. She curls in a lip and quietly concedes.

They exit their table and make towards the front – where a cashier might have once stood in another place similar to this. Seth’s there tending to the books. 

Joel stops, raises a brow but doesn't say anything. Doesn’t need to. He’s here to see where he and Ellie are at with their rations for mid-month after today’s meal. Not here to punch him in his fucking face for what happened at The Winter Dance last weekend. No, Joel’s absolutely not thinking about that at all. 

The curmudgeonly man sets his view in line with Joel’s but his is fidgety and flaky, “You’re both good here. Next week we’ll need-uh...two deer and a half dozen rabbits, alright?” 

Joel tilts his head, grabs a toothpick from the counter and sticks it into the corner of his mouth. He twirls it a spell while staring at Seth in that threatening type of silence. “Come on,” he hears Ellie say from somewhere else, her hand pressing to his flannel-covered chest.

“Mmhm,” he rumbles, before moving to usher the girl out of the door first. 

He sutures the teeth of his tan Carhart and tugs the looping blue scarf higher to his throat and chin as they set a path towards the stables. 

“Fucks sake, it’s as cold as a witches titty out here.” 

Joel roars at the delivery _and_ the vivid visual. He slaps his tummy, “Didya really just say what I think you said?”

The girl trots ahead and spins to fire off some finger-guns at him, “Like that one, eh?” 

“Girl, that joke’s older’an me, but yes, yes I do. Takes me back.” 

“To...witches titties?” Her head tilts towards her shoulder blade by a lighthearted curiosity and it costs nearly everything in him not to tug her close. He wants her to feel the happiness she’s pouring into him and never let go, never stop these moments of simplicity that ring so pure and true. 

The response to that comeback is, of course, more laughter, albeit a little lower this time. It’s still deep and rumbly, and Ellie loves it, has always loved that thundery rumble. When she met Joel, she thought he had never laughed a day in his life. The pun books were ice breakers – more for her than him – but even with those, his icy resolve was damn near impenetrable. 

These days though, or rather the years prior to their falling out and the past few days, she doesn’t have to try as hard. She still likes to, though. 

“You’re a wild one, Red. An’ yes, s’cold. Gonna be a long day, too. How’s ‘bout a hot dinner when we get home?” 

She didn’t miss the tonal redirect; the girl tucks the witch into her box and stows her for now, hoping there will be another opportunity to spring her on him when he’s least suspecting it. That’s when he laughs the hardest. When his cheeks go flush with crimson and the veins protrude across his forehead and throat like roadways to what he’s experiencing. Ellie daydreams a tick as to when, or if, she might ever see those maps again. 

Regardless, Ellie’s not found satiation yet, “How’s about we play hooky and have that hot dinner now?” She greets him with mischievous eyebrow action to emphasize her flexible stance on work and play. 

He swallows and pushes back a faint memory of her and that exact expression from his dream.  
Feels himself stir in jeans as he fails to fully eradicate the image. 

Hears a sudden scream in his head that says that as good as it _could_ feel, it’s not right. 

This laugh that comes after is more of a straining type of noise; he’s working to subdue himself as they walk together in a slow stride, his poor lack of sleep and the endless mental gymnastics all starting to bleed into one. 

Fortunately for them, the winds are far more tolerable than they were earlier but the snow is still blanketing the earth in sizable tufts of frozen white. 

A deep inhale, “An’ miss out on all the fun? I don’ think so.” 

“What fucking fun, Joel?” 

She says this as they arrive at the stables to find Keane, the on-shift manager from the _‘other side of Texas’_ (Ellie thinks it’s endlessly funny, the elitism of Texan men). He’s busy tacking what appears to be Jesse’s steed but her friend is nowhere in sight. 

“Hey, you two. Y’all plannin’ on fun? In this bullshit? Oh, Joel I replaced his shoes. So he’ll ride nice for ya.” 

Down the thoroughfare she glimpses Shimmer and Joel’s stallion, a Tennessee Walker he named Balboa, already saddled, watered, fed and waiting for their persons. 

“Thanks, man. Appreciate it.” 

“Don’t mention it. Just be sure to bring some’a that fine steel back from your journey, should you cross paths with it.” 

Joel clicks his tongue as he approaches Balboa and pats the horse's muzzle, “You got it.” 

Ellie follows suit and does similarly, adding a few extra rubs, pats and affectionate whispers to her favorite mare. 

“Hey, Keane. Is Jesse on patrol today?” 

Keane pulls on the cinch and then flips his head over to look at Ellie. The man’s long hair flies this way and that, before, “Oh, no. Just outfittin’ his mare with a new saddle is all. Leather’s stiff.” 

“Gotcha. Well, thanks, dude. See you next shift.” She smiles, grabs a handful of carrots and then leads Shimmer, and the two males by proxy, through the exit. 

Once they’re by the front gate, they do a final weapons check, stow their backpacks and mount their horses. They’re prepared to ride. 

“Got all ya need, El?” 

She smiles at the short version of her name on his breath – catches herself, feels like a loon and promptly shifts her survey elsewhere. Why are these sweet nothings pooling in her belly, making everything seem as though it were summer all around them? 

Although the girl doesn’t understand it, and hasn’t been alone enough to examine the thing that keeps resulting in these moments of pause, she replies with an even-keeled, “Yep.” 

Just then, Joel sees Tommy walking towards them, his face bruising and far worse for the wear than Joel’s. He might have a shred of remorse one day, but today is not that day. 

“Hey.” Joel’s voice is heavy and his eyes are hard. 

“Hey. Y’all headed to Teton?” 

Ellie chimes in, “Yep. My first time out there in winter, actually. Pretty excited, all things considered.” She’s terse but not as frigid as she suspects Joel would be, should the man ever open his mouth to speak again. 

“Be careful. Folks reportin’ some recent activity near that ol’ Baldwin place. Don’t know if it’s Clickers or Hunters.” 

“Thanks.” Curt. Just, curt. 

Tommy digs both hands into the loose pockets of his jeans and suspires a great plume of air; his steam rises and carries itself on the winds of winter but it’s the silence that has Ellie damn near ready to pop a blood vessel. 

“Sure thing. Be safe out there.” 

“Thanks, Tommy. _WE_ appreciate the heads up.” She knows Joel’s fuming and to a certain degree she is as well, but the man’s extending an olive branch and if the older brother won’t bite, she will. 

These Miller men. 

It hits her then that she’s not spent any real moments ruminating on this Jackson-sized mess, least not fully on her own yet. It’s true that she craves the closeness and reassurance of being with Joel, but the Mandate and all its open-ended circumstances are starting to settle into her psyche like lead weights. Rash decision making is the very last tactic she should approach this with. So, she won’t do that. 

Ellie muses that after dinner tonight, when they’re alone and twenty-four hours on from the Mandate meeting, when they refuse to discuss it at length (because she somehow knows he’s not primed for that yet), she will leave. Not from anger or neglect, or fear and confusion. It’s not a punishment or a penance. No, she’ll leave because this is bigger than a nightmare and they need time to process apart. 

This is huge, this is her life on the line. His, too. 

Again.

“Waitin’ on you, Red.” 

The spark spreads low in her tummy as she looks up and meets his eyes, “Let’s do this, Joel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the teeny tiny "sex" scene is a good enough balm...for now. I needed to put a little focus onto Joel after some of the harder moments with Ellie from the last update. Serves him right for being in denial about things. ;)
> 
> And can we talk about the way these two are mirroring one another? It's almost as though their headed towards a collision of who can hide their feelings the most! One day they'll learn, but I suspect that day is far off yet. 
> 
> Next chapter will have more action than the swell of emotion from previous ones, this most recent included. Of course it's Joel and Ellie so there will be SOME but with their expedition coming up and then a bunch of Christmas festivities after, I think it's not unreasonable to give them just a slither of peace and joy (to the world!). 
> 
> & That's that for chapter 5! We are five dang chapters in already – how are we feeling about things?
> 
> What do you think will happen at the Baldwin Mansion – is it Hunters, Clickers or perhaps a small group from a faction farther west that's been mingling out there... 
> 
> Find out in Chapter 6 sometime next week! 
> 
> Lastly - THANK YOU. My gosh, I am just humbled by the response to this little labor of love. Truly. xx


	6. & Dissonant Saline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joel and Ellie are on patrol and get into a bit of trouble on the Teton Valley run. After, they find themselves at the Baldwin Mansion, yes, that Chalet, and Ellie's nightmare finally reaches a boiling point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to save the bulk of my notes for _after_ the chapter because I don't want to give too much away, but I will offer this much up front: There's more vivid descriptions of PTSD and a semi-explicit conversation. 
> 
> More notes at the close!

The ride is arduous and the weather bitter, with Balboa and Shimmer’s energy fading as the hours draw on. Joel and Ellie’s patrol checks have been quiet and mostly empty, too. Well, the majority of them at least. A few miles back there were two Runners by a row of double-wides but other than those, there's only the steady snowfall and a deep silence to accompany the pair. 

Even still, Joel thinks it _too_ quiet, should the girl outright ask his opinion. All logic and reason say that it’s just the winter storm but his gut has been sensing something _untoward_ for a while. Something he’s not been alluding to on this journey north – because he adamantly believes she doesn’t need the additional stress. Especially stress deriving from an instinctual source that is, at its very nature, baseless. 

He’s keeping his mind tuned to the elsewhere but his focus must firmly remain in the here and now. 

“We oughta check them houses for any supplies an’ the like.” His voice barely carries beyond the Walker’s ears but Ellie knows him well enough to surmise what he’s optioning. 

“I take left, you take right?” Ellie hopes he declines and offers to go left with her but she won’t voice this. She’s trying with all her residual willpower to stave the swells of fear and fright that spill into her at the mere idea of separating. 

This illogical fear and the craving for him is beginning to trouble her; it lays so resolute atop her worrisome shoulders, as though her brain is oozing the dream out onto her naked bones like the slow dripping of a cement chute. Yet somehow, the weight itself _is_ tolerable and even comforting in a very otherworldly sense. She discovers sustenance and structure there – a reliability that sings of its truth. Permanence. 

Joel is permanent. 

“How ‘bout we stick together on this one, Red?” 

Relief. 

“Deal.”

††††

The girl finds a Superhero card in the rubble of a dilapidated drawer that was once part of a boy’s computer desk. She wonders idly what his name was, what might have happened to him, how long he survived – if he’s _still_ alive – even mulls on what his favorite card might have been. Ellie ruminates often whilst on patrols – her mind drifting to those who were alive and old enough to understand the severity and the catastrophe of Outbreak Day firsthand.

Thoughts of Joel always form front and center whenever she’s swept away on these drifting waves of wonder and fantasy. What he was like before that night, what he became in the days, weeks and months following. What he did and what was done _to_ him. She’s learned a little bit through the years, be it from Joel himself or Tommy secondhand — mostly Tommy — but she’s never had _all_ of it in one lump sum. So she fills in the blanks and tries to build something better for him, something kinder and easier. 

She does all of this despite knowing the truth of what his life was, of what it is. 

Ellie runs a gloved finger along the edges of this new card and shakes herself loose of the mental wanderlust. Pivots from a dark past to a frozen present in the tick of a few seconds. 

Still, it’s not long until the simplicity of these little nothings swoop in to warm her; she thinks of the growing collection back in the garage and smirks knowingly; she found one a while ago that’s in “mint-condition,” – a prized possession – but she’s never told anyone. Not entirely sure as to why that’s so, but Ellie likes to believe that some wins should remain for her and her alone. 

The girl flips the aged cardstock and studies its hero scale and biography without fully reading it; she’ll save that for later when she’s alone and in search of comfort food and mindless pleasures. Knows that when she leaves Joel for the night, she’ll seek the familiar wrappings of her homestead more than ever. 

_Tonight._

A gasp hitches in her throat as her inner dialogue chews on what awaits, once the midnight hours bore on and her heart succumbs to the parting of ways; when the horrors that are certain to sniff her trail like a wild beast hunting its prey come to visit. When that beast tracks her down and captures her to a symphony of screams and blood and agony. 

When she’s well and truly possessed by it and loses the handle of reality to loss itself. 

A twinge of pain washes across her features at such morose meanderings. She swallows, leverages her breaths and cracks her neck. 

Patrol with Joel. This house. The card. 

She turns it over again to catch the name but sees first the image of a small, golden creature gracing its front. He has adorably goofy ears with little sprouts of fire-red hair atop his domed head. 

“ _The Child_. Hmm. Don’t have this one. He’s pure good. Powers include...healing, protection and being fucking cute as all hell.” 

“Wha’s that? Oh, them cards you been collectin’ a while now, yeah? Does it really say that ‘bout it bein’ cute?” Joel stands behind the girl and peers over her shoulder to the colorful, albeit fading, collectible in her palm. 

“Nah, I added that last bit. Look at him, though. Who could resist that face? I’ve been healed of all my troubles, all my worries, Joel. One look at that cutie and it’s no wonder everyone fell prey to his loving wiles.” 

She tilts to look up at him and angles the card better to his line of sight, catches on to how close he’s standing and the warmth that’s radiating off of him in waves of speckled gold. It’s as though sunshine were melting the icy barrier of her frozen home planet one beam at a time; thawing her wasteland of worry and doubt like it were nothing more than a thin layer of decaying atmosphere. 

Ellie knows she can never keep him on the other side again. 

“Hmm, s’a cute little weirdo, that’s for sure.” 

His eyes are with hers as he says this and she laughs fully as a genuine smile spreads across her face, dismantling the final traces of tension from before. 

“Is that so?”

“Oh, the cutest.” 

They stare at one another as _The Child_ lingers between them, all searching and supplies forgotten for the moment. It doesn’t last long. 

The bedroom door of a boy who once was bangs on its rusty hinges from a particularly bothersome gust of wind, undoing the pause amongst them. Joel feels himself instinctually pull away as the clang of metal on metal pierces through the bite of weather and...that something else. 

“We should get goin’. Gotta get to the Baldwin place an’ back before dark and it ain’t gonna get any kinder out there.” 

Ellie’s mossy-greens sink as she slips the meaningful trinket into her backpack for safe-keeping. 

“Aye, aye, Cap’n.” 

He huffs and makes towards the exit – they’ll need to jump to the landing below from the semi-unstable second story; the staircase rotted years ago, he guesses, which means more hell on his knees and overall exertion but he’s used to it. Has _long_ since been accustomed to this rigorous lifestyle and thus, shares no complaints. Neither does she. 

At the doorway he turns, takes inventory of her gazing around the abandoned space and touches her arm, “You good?”

“Mmhm. I just...I like to imagine an idea of who was here before...before everything.” 

Joel offers a melancholic half-grin and sniffs deeply, “There was a whole lot of livin’ that happened here an’ all around us, Ellie. Don’t mean we should spend too much time gettin’ lost in a fantasy of who might’a been. It’s ‘bout who is and who _will be_ now.” 

He doesn’t wait for any part of that commentary to register, and truth be told he’s not fully certain as to what he meant by that last – or is scared to admit what he _might_ have meant. Joel just knows her, knows what she needs to feel comfort and connection and so long as he’s here, so long as they’re here together, he will give of it freely. 

Once outside the house and into the whirlpool of Wyoming wind and snow, they trot parallel to one another with a set heading towards the Mansion place. They travel in silence, hoods shrouding their heads and scarves masking as much skin as they can manage while still keeping warmth to their throats and chests. 

The girl groans from a combination of utter despair and a bone-aching weariness. It’s freezing, getting darker and she doesn’t know this route. So, should they be separated, she’d be far worse for the wear than he would; the pathway has gone all but invisible as it lies buried beneath fresh mounds of white. She tries to draw on something, on anything to supplant this fatigue with distracting flights of fancy. To help carry her onward and keep pace with Joel’s brutal threshold to withstand just about anything. Crushing winters be damned.

She mulls on the feel of a Spring season in regards to the suspended earth underneath all this winter; it’s there, waiting to sprout anew with vigorous life and vivid color – with warmth and flowers and bees and the highest tall grass she once found herself lost in as a child. 

A young girl comes to the forefront of her mind, appearing to be no more than two or three years old. She’s petite but sturdy with shiny black hair and sparkly green eyes that fill with joy as she glimpses someone standing near; it’s not Ellie in this vision the youngling is seeing but instead another being that this little one knows by heart. There’s a smile, too, of the kind that’s tentative yet loving and goofy all in the same. She feels...familiar to Ellie...but her features show a multitude of angles, shapes and proportions that are someone else’s as well. Someone she knows from this real world and not the imaginative place she’s fallen into. 

Even with all of that, Ellie gleans that this little being of light is her own person in a world of want and neglect. Thinks that despite the bounty of hell that surrounds her on all fronts, this toddler is well loved, adored and cared for so completely that it feels like home. To Ellie. 

Right as she smiles at the crystalline portrait of this phantom girl, a squall of wind slams against Shimmer's left flank. The mare rears in response as its eyes go white with terror and an instinct to flee. And so it does. It circles once, twice and proceeds to race in the direction they came from, running at a full clip until Ellie yanks on the leather straps and halts the spooked horse. 

The mare bounces on its hooves a few times, denoting a threatening gesture – a warning; she’s priming to rise up and eject her passenger, Ellie knows the signs, but the girl steels herself and calms the beast between her thighs. She pats, pets and squeezes gently, lying almost prone in the saddle to shield herself from the elements and the fearsome display of her steed. 

“Easy girl, _easy now_ , shhh, it’s okay, we’re okay.” She eases into a pattern of reassurance as that lovely imaginative world seeps away, one droplet of knowing at a time. Until all is lost. 

No warmth, no aromatic garden, no beautiful girl. Just this winter and the nothingness that expands and contracts, that whips and whirls all about. Assaulting her over and over again.

_“Ellie?!”_

She hears Joel’s voice above the din of whooshing sounds and peers in every direction to search for its source, “Over here! Joel! I’m back here! I can’t see you!” 

Somewhere in the haze of her fantasyland and Shimmer’s hightailing it, they veered off the trail and apart from each other. She has no idea how far away he is or how far she’s backtracked. 

And it’s then she hears it. 

A horde is descending from the south. Right to her position. 

Their footfall is loud enough to rise above the storm, above Joel’s fevering pitch, above the racing roar within the hold of her caged bones. A distance and a dissonance happens all at once as her cloudy, weathering stasis crumbles one intake of icy air after the next. She doesn’t normally panic or falter, doesn’t pause-stop-halt or take leave of her faculties in moments of urgency. But that was _before_ this week. Before…

“JOEL!” 

Ellie lifts off of Shimmer’s withers and screams herself hoarse. She would absolutely make _the_ pun if she weren't lost in a battle against the sky and a collective of undead fuckwads that can’t seem to grasp they shouldn’t be alive. That they should be icing over like gory virus cakes molding into the soil, leaching back into the void where they belong. 

_”Joel!!_ She cries, over again and again as she sets the mare into a chaotic gallop. She doesn’t know if she’s heading in the right direction, or any direction for that matter, but it’s ahead of the horde and that’s where she has to remain. Keep ahead, keep moving, endure and survive. Get to him. _Get to him._

“Ellie!?” 

She hears his voice and it’s marginally closer now – she’s going the right way. He’s okay, he’s alive. 

She keeps going. To Joel. To safety. 

Finally she spots a gray-black smudge up ahead on the horizon; it’s moving, shifting this way and that albeit awfully out of focus. Still, as she goes towards it, she notices that the gap between her and that dusky mirage is expanding, unbeknownst to the man leading its charge. He’s on the hill, about ten or so yards from her, no, fifteen, twenty now – she realizes that he’s going the wrong way. Ellie curses the powers that be and wishes so much she could fire a flare or rip her lungs out and throw them at his head. Anything to get him to her. 

Ellie surmises that he’s just as panicked as she is, fearful he’s lost her in the white maze of the weather’s brutalism. 

“Shimmer, I know you’re scared, but I’m asking you to give it all you’ve got for the next five to ten, okay, girl? I know you can do this.” Ellie turns in her leather cradle and clocks the horde: they’re closing in quick and their numbers are staggering. 

“Where the _fuck_ are you coming from?!” The girl hollers, her windpipe straining with a rally cry that’s instantaneously absorbed into the mountainous ether. She kicks at Shimmer’s barrel and leans in, forging north towards the location she last caught Joel’s shadowy form. She knows there’s more than just the impact of the Infected’s gait as it draws near. Can almost feel their gnashing teeth and hear their gnawing growls, or their sickly rotting scent and the alienation of that dreadful _clicking._

She shivers but it’s not from the cold this time. 

Up a ways a gunshot cuts the din sure and true but dies almost as swiftly as her primal exclamations did. She goes to it like a needful thing in dire straits – because that’s exactly what Ellie is. 

As she bears down and dredges plumes of powdery dust behind her with each hoof pounding into a dead earth, Ellie hones her attention forward. She’s locking onto a shape that’s becoming more Joel and less of an outline but feels a loss of control the nearer she gets. He doesn’t look to be moving like he was, or maybe it’s Balboa who isn’t moving? But that was only a few moments ago and...no. There _was_ only one shot heard. 

She can’t be sure of anything anymore, not even the weighty resonance of his revolver. This storm is too much, the horde is too vast and her heart is too inadequate after a week of heaven and hell. 

Finally she sees him as clear as she can manage with the winds and storm battering them like it is, “Oh thank fuck. Joel, are you okay?!” 

She pulls harshly on the reins and Shimmer stops, bobs a few beats and begins to circle in a show of disparaging discontent and blinding fear. Her human is acting quite wily but the steed is incapable of understanding one form of panic over the next. It’s all just...frightful. Still, there’s an urgency the beautiful beast can sense – she knows to keep moving. To be free of this panic in a safe place, like a barn or a...barn. Most importantly, Shimmer means to keep the human that’s astride her safe, too. The mare likes that one a whole lot, what with all the delicious sugar cubes and carrots she likes to treat her to. 

“What in the hell happened, Ellie?” The girl straightens the mare’s position and is now beside Joel as the man kneels by his felled horse. By the line of pines, there’s an abundance of blood splatter and dead Infected littering an otherwise pristine hillside. He’s pawing at the snow hastily in an effort to recover his backpack from under Balboa’s impressive hide while patting the steed in irregular intervals. 

The Italian Stallion is wasting on the ground, hefting great, laboring breaths as it fights to live, as it whines to die. “Oh, no. Joel, what happened?” 

The girl makes to swing her legs over the side of Shimmer but Joel barks at her, “Ellie, don’t get off! Balboa ain’t gonna make it. Pack a’clickers rushed from the pines. Bastards got’im bad before I got them.” 

A cacophony of feral sound permeates the space to the rear of them, a deadly reminder of the reaper on their backs. 

“Joel, hop the fuck on! We gotta go, we gotta go right goddamn now!” 

His pack finally free and on his shoulders, Joel rubs Balboa’s muzzle once before pulling the trigger. One round was all it took to end the last woeful suffering of his steed. The man does nothing else, speaks no words and shares no hint to the tinge of pain that briefly fills his chest. Now’s not the time. 

Anchoring a single foot into a temporarily vacant stirrup, Joel hoists himself high and settles behind Ellie as firmly as he can. Once secure enough, he loops a limb around her waist while his other hand white-knuckles the horn and, “RIDE!” 

Shimmer sets off in a palette of chestnut and brown, her color the only thing burning a trail to separate the living from all else. The trio flies, racing northward and putting themselves apart from the lifeless forest and a dead friend. Apart from the horde of monsters that call to claim what they feel is resolutely theirs. 

The horse carries on, faster and faster still. 

The rolling cadence of hooves are thundering into the drifts of packed snowfall, creating an echo chamber of wild drums – an orchestra that’s wholly in sync and yet hellish at the same. 

Shimmer moves with a precision she’s never hit before; fearful of the frightening noise behind her, sad for her friend who she’s left alone – she doesn’t like that one bit but doesn’t understand why, not really – yet protective of the weight that’s pressing atop her still. Her humans seem to know where to go and so that’s where she’s going. The mare trusts without so much as a second guess. Still, if there was some way she could turn around to bring her friend with her…she thinks they would be alright with that. Surely they would? 

The horse whines then but in that brief moment of hesitation, a slight sting from somewhere at the rear comes to replace all other thoughts. There is no going back. 

Forward. Onward. _Run._

Ellie holds tight to the leather in her sheathed hands, she knows they’re shaking despite being unable to discern such an inconsequential truth at present. She doesn’t feel the sweat that trickles down the small of her back, beneath her breasts or by her temples either. She doesn’t feel the burn in her lungs or the fear laden in every bit of marrow that makes her. The girl just _goes_. 

“Almost there! _Shit_ –There’s more comin’ in from the sides!” Joel yells into her ear, his voice barely above this scene of manic tumult. He’s holding so tensely to Ellie’s waist that he fears he’ll leave bruises when this is all over; his body fitting to her so uniformly that he’s certain they might be all but stuck together, permanently. 

Ellie offers a boisterous nod to acknowledge him as she finally glimpses it: Baldwin Mansion. They forge a pathway using a long and winding road but the final destination remains in sight the entire time: the front gates. She pushes her beast a measure more, trying to draw as much power and strength as she can manage without killing the beautiful equine in the process. 

And at last, they arrive. 

They soar beyond heavy wrought-iron and see themselves galloping through an open garage bay door. Ellie eases the horse back as Joel hits the ground running towards the gates without preamble. He secures them and sprints from one end of the yard to its opposite, looking and sealing off any additional entry points to stem the swell of this swarm. 

“Ellie–Molotovs!” 

The girl races to him, leaving Shimmer to settle in this new place alone; each of her hands are full with a bottle that’s prepped to ignite the moment she’s ready to be without them. Which was when this whole charade began not ten minutes prior. There’s been plenty of action for one day though – it’s time to end this. 

Still, neither is yet paying any consideration to their plan for when it’s time to leave all this and return to Jackson. 

Ellie plants her feet firmly, standing near the center of the entryway; Joel lights each cloth wick and stands apart. She growls something inaudible before she launches one bottle and then a second at the burgeoning row of Clickers, Runners and whatever that sickly amalgamation that occurs after the disturbingly rotten infection sets in. 

“Die you FUCKS!” 

“Two more if you got ‘em!” 

“Only have one left, Joel,” she hollers across as she lights the thing and heaves it so hard her shoulder pops. The glass shatters upon impact and both Ellie and Joel watch as the spray of alcohol catches fire and inflames this cursed unreality. Feral screams and deathly gurgles fill the air for a minute or three before a hallowing silence slowly begins to replace it. 

They stand there, Joel with his shotgun, Ellie with her switchblade. Armed with adrenaline and experience. 

“Fuck.” She’s first to break the silence. She’s always first. 

The girl pitches outward abruptly, trying to grasp and release great lungfuls of air but finds it’s next to useless. Her heart is beating too fast, her hands shaking too hard, her whole body too wracked to calm just yet. 

“I mean, _fuck_ , Joel.”

He walks towards the flaming gates and double checks its bolted latch with the business end of his machete. He does this while seething at the hazy landscape that stretches out all around them; he’s looking for any stragglers that may be lingering about – stalkers that are slightly more cunning than the others. Still, with the snowstorm, his visibility is extremely limited, but it’s just bright enough to note that there are no more outlines or shadows to be found on the horizon. Not now, anyway. 

“C’mon, let’s get inside.” 

He lays an arm atop her shoulders and ushers them towards the garage, towards the lodge and all its quiet and safety. Joel knows that as soon as they’re inside, he needs to get a fire going to chase away the chill that will root in them if they’re not careful; the last thing either he or she needs is a nasty cold, or worse. 

“We gotta clear the house, make sure there ain’t no one livin’ here. Patrols only come this way once a month but with the storm, we need’a be extra thorough, yeah?”

Ellie’s trembling but her focus is steadily returning; she’s rubbing the frost from Shimmer’s coat with the cuff of her own and pats the good mare affectionately. Trying to ground herself, trying to ground them both. 

“Okay.” 

“Hey, you good?” Joel angles his head to the side to gain a better view and waits, unsure of what she needs. He’s seen her afraid but never to the extent in the lead up to right now. 

She bobs her head but doesn’t physically offer anything beyond that, “Sure. We gotta check this place. My clothes are soaked and my stomach is empty and I just–I wanna get settled for the night, since it looks like we’re not going anywhere any time soon.” 

Joel takes one step away and then another as he opens the room for her, allowing her to move as she pleases without any constriction or expectation from his presence. 

“Stick together this time, Red?” 

The girl’s emeralds finally rise to join his as she swallows the tension stone that’s been choking her since Shimmer unintentionally separated them. 

“Yeah, let’s. And Joel? I’m sorry about Balboa. That’s...I’m just sorry.”

††††

“Some folks been stayin’ here recently.” Joel’s revolver is at his side, his finger by the trigger but not _on_ it as he scans the spacious living room. They haven’t started sweeping the chalet yet, but both know that proof of life this early could derail any comfort and much sought after rest later on.

“Litterin’. Bits’a trash left behind. Hell, someone even forgot their damn rucksack. We’ll need to go through that at some point. Seems they was in a hurry to get outta this place. Horde coulda been the reason. Or somethin’ else.” He chews on his bottom lip as he peruses, taking a mental inventory of all the minor disruptions these phantom travellers have caused during their stay. He claims no ownership over this place, but with Tommy’s warning about recent activity and the massive mob that chased them down, concern sits like a poisonous sinker in his belly. 

“We need to check the second floor, start from the top and work our way from there. Patrol protocol. Shore up the entrances, windows and barricade everywhere else for however long we’re gonna be here.” Ellie’s blade is poised to strike as she runs through the list aloud, her radar eyes scanning the locale while she listens for the faintest hint of movement. 

Joel nods, “Mmhm. Let’s hush ‘til we’re through with this sweep. C’mon.” 

They ascend the staircase, her at his six to protect him against any form of attack from behind, as he assumes a precise crouch and moves upwards methodically. Despite the years that have gone by since their last full-location clearing, there’s a pattern of behavior that they’re falling seamlessly into. They’ve done this routine a thousand times, more so than most everyone else in Jackson, if she’s in a one-upmanship frame of mind – she’s not – thus this place is of no contrast. 

The semi-tactical sweep proceeds smoothly and without fanfare. The loft is clear and seems to have been kept mostly clean through the years, with a pool table that Ellie couldn’t help but ogle at; Joel sees her staring and knows it’ll be only a matter of time until she asks him to rack ‘em up (and he will). A smaller bedroom is already cordoned off so there’s little purpose in disturbing the pile of soggy cardboard boxes set at its front. 

But once inside the master suite, something becomes hilariously apparent: Whomever had been here in recent days or weeks did not put the accommodations to proper use in the most basic _sleeping_ sense of survivability. 

Ellie’s eyes are cast south as she halts in her tracks and snorts a great sniffle of a noise. It slices through the quiet in short order and she knows a barrage of fits is all but upon them now. 

The girl finds herself in too perfect a situation all of the sudden and so the rules of silence are summarily forgotten: on her designated side she’s come across a few curious items laying abandoned on the room’s solid oak flooring. They lure her undividedly and she cuts a line towards one specific thing – but pauses before touching it. She’s motionless for the second time and takes the opportunity to peer around; by all appearances no one is home (save for her and Joel) so she shifts her attention back onto the object and leaps at the chance to make him laugh or squirm...or both. Hopefully both. 

All the girl’s suspicious action lends Joel to his own bout of intrigue; he wanders over to get a better look at what she’s hovering above and unapologetically snickering at. 

“Ellie, quiet now, we got a lotta lodge to check still.” 

She huffs and then bumps purposely into Joel’s shoulder, redirecting his gaze to the deserted item that’s stolen her inhibitions and rule abiding. She leans nearer to him, her mouth adjacent to an ear as she whispers: “ _The Clittorghini:_ Voted World’s Fastest Climax! Joellll, can I take it home with me?”

Ellie shifts and looks at him all doe-eyed and pouty, her full lips shiny with a sheen of fresh spit; she’s so close to him...she’s too close to him. There’s a stark disintegration of his resolve that arises from the heaviness of that stare _and_ the thoughts that the adult toy resting by their heels is putting into his head. He knows she’s taunting him, of course she is – the girl’s done this a few times in their past just to elicit an awkward response. It’s clear she loves those from him. 

Every single time he falls into this witty trap and he knows, once again, he’s about to descend into the embarrassing snare she’s put into place.

In all this consideration – and surprise – he gets lost for a spell, his mind flipping through the dusty novel of their journey West to Wyoming. Where the humiliation _really_ began. 

The first was in Pittsburgh with Bill’s stolen magazine, the second was when they unintentionally looted a porn shop somewhere in central Ohio (he still swears she swiped a VHS or two). The centerfold conversation wasn’t too bad but after the store, his cheeks were flushed and his words remained wholly absent for a solid day or so. Ellie, of course, happily filled in the quiet; the girl couldn’t seem to help herself – she commented on everything from the ‘fake dicks ranging in what-the-fuck size,’ to the various types of paddles used for spanking (she talked about those a lot, if he recalls correctly). 

But what really sent the girl into a fit of frenzy was the sex swing. She couldn’t quite grasp the benefits of that – of a swing just _in the house somewhere_ – being used for fucking. He didn’t explain its mechanics no matter how many times or how many different ways she poked at him about it – Joel knew she was a smart girl. She’d figure it out eventually. 

There’s a handful of these inappropriate meanderings from all of the memory roads they’ve trekked and time in close proximity they’ve shared. He thinks it humorous, secretly, how she’s always been so delighted by the sexual exploits of those from the old world. 

Still, back in those early days, Joel would just listen and walk ahead, praying for God to erase her memory or make her mute. Anything to spare him the trouble. 

But that was then. Now – now everything’s… _not_ what it was then. For him, at least. 

In those days her rhetoric was nothing but an annoyance, something childish and mischievous that Joel merely tolerated and gritted his way through. It never occurred to him to educate the girl, least not in the way he perhaps should have as the adult in charge. In his defense, however, everyone living in a post-apocalyptic world should be prepared for all facets of human life – sex included into such a chaotic mix of existence. He’d always assumed she just...knew what she needed to know and that was that. It wasn’t his job. 

But in this suite, surrounded by a wasteland of personal items of an expired life, what she’s poking at proves that his assumptions from years ago were, to some extent, correct. She knows what she needs and thus, naturally, is turning it into a lighthearted moment of torment to earn a reaction from him.

He clears his throat, scratches his beard and bevels part of his bulk onto an opposite foot, “I...I’d maybe suggest against it… _what?_ ” 

The girl slaps a palm to her mouth to silence a roar that, he suspects, would bullhorn a whole new flood of Infected, should they catch note of it.

“Shush, girl, keep it down,” but on that last even he breaks, “You’re always...ya just…you. Aren’cha?” 

Ellie grabs hold of his bicep and bends at the middle as she attempts to control her laughter; her chest constricts as it stifles wave after wave of impermissible, unstoppable giggling. Sometimes, as a young girl she would find herself in similar circumstances while pretending to pray away the boredom in the rectory. She could expertly feign obliviousness to the whims of her fellow undesirables while avoiding being caught and called out by the powers that be. It was a skill and a point of pride. Regardless, sometimes she succeeded, sometimes not. 

These youthful antics took place back in an endless time of glibness spent at one of Boston’s Orphanage Outposts; she would be forced into hours of kneeling, sitting, standing – languishing in the name of Jesus Christ because the Nuns were too preoccupied with keeping them safe to do much in the way of child rearing. But oh, in those rare moments of untouchable glee when a friend or foe found themselves in a tight spot – with reprimands and whippings that would extend for country miles the result. Ellie remembers how it felt as though her cheeks were set ablaze, the painful watering of eyes and how every breath hitched as she fought the good fight. 

Because back at that place, laughter spelled trouble with a cane and a missed meal and those sort of punishments just wouldn’t do. Even for a rebel like Ellie Williams. 

She muses on it but also how insurmountably strenuous a task that was, keeping her explosive laughter imprisoned inside. Thinks what she feels here in this room is identical to that and it makes her want to let loose all the more. 

Ellie pats her belly, releases his arm and points to a disgusting pile of yellowing garments, “Did you catch that crusty pile of socks over there…or how about the furry handcuffs and empty bottle of lube from a century ago? And that thick, silver ring-thing...think that’s involved in this scenario somehow? Shit, Joel. What the fuck were people doing here? Jerking off and wearing handcuffs...? I mean, that’s one big pile of dirty laundry, too. Lotta co–” 

“Alright, alright. I get it. This room’s a self- _something_ den. If we sleep in here, you’re welcome to this side. Now let’s get goin’.” 

Ellie chuffs and snaps her neck to the rear, “You’re so easy to rile, old man.” 

_’There’s that Old Man bullshit again. Never bothered me before. Shouldn’t bother me now. I am an old fuckin’ man.’_

“And you’re loud. Now c’mon.” 

Ellie sighs and pulls a lip in disappointment, “Fine. Fine.”

Joel exits the room, head shaking and shoulders tense as he goes. He doesn’t see the girl kick the stimulation device beneath the bed frame with a devious smirk. It’ll lay there for all eternity, set amongst the dust and the dim of time passing by.

††††

The rest of the chalet’s sweep is less lewd and far more quiet after that. They each fall into a routine of calculating movement as they rifle through drawers, line up potential supplies to either use or stow for later while triple checking that no one is lingering in any of the smaller crevices.

“Think there’s just the basement left, Ellie.” 

The girl hears him but neglects to respond; she’s sorting four cans of peaches and three of roast beef ground hash that were hidden behind the plumbing of the mud room sink. A score if ever there was one. She knows what their dinner and dessert will be tonight. 

Finally, “And then can we change out of these sopping-wet clothes. I’m freezing my ass off, Joel.” 

He looks at the girl then, finding her lips a paler shade of pink than what they were wearing upstairs. Her eyes are too dark as well, a militant and dull green akin to the color they had been when she ran into his arms earlier in the week. That first night. She was so cold and scared – he still couldn’t believe she fought her way to him in nothing more than her work boots and an old flannel. Tougher than nails, this one. 

“We’ll make it quick.” 

He moves to the basement door and grips his revolver. He chances a look over his shoulder to see her standing by the kitchen island, waiting to descend and assume her role in the guard. Habitual, practiced. 

“Stairs clear.” 

Joel approaches the wooden steps hesitantly, leveraging his body weight before every press of a foot to ensure minimum noise, should anyone be lying in wait beyond the second door at the bottom. 

Ellie follows and almost instantly, an inundation of recognition swells on her tongue like a strangled cry. Her eyes roll dangerously in their sockets as she struggles to reconstruct one side of this cavern from its opposite. As she implores the very hollow of her bones to find purchase and cease this unreality. To stem the river of fright the way he’s been subtly trying to teach her all week. 

Nothing is working.  
For this is the end. 

The edges of her vision go blurry as a vignette of panic peels back the last remnants of her steely resolve. The light is leaving her, fading from the edges of her vision; the only thing that remains are fine particles of dust that glitter and glow from an ambient source she’s unable to make out. Her sound is the next sense to be stolen; she hears little else above the daunting pace of her hammering heart and all the air she can’t seem to exhale. 

She doesn’t know what it all signifies, only that she can’t let him go into that godfucked of a room. She can’t, she must do all she can to stop him. 

So Ellie sits and descends one plank at a time on her rear end, the girl forcing herself to move despite the severity of this panic attack and the supernaturally-long stairwell. 

All she wants to do is scream to him, to weep his mountainous name and save Joel from what she knows awaits on the other end of that doorway. But he’s moving farther and farther apart in a series of slow-motion footfalls, oblivious to her urgencies.

“Joel…” Her voice is painfully low and laden with an intense apprehension – everything is wrong. She never woke up – there’s only ever been this moment – all their roads have led to this ruin. She’s powerless and failing him. Just as she’s known she would over and over again this entire week. 

“Shhh,” he hushes, paying little mind to the collision of a waking nightmare and a hellish nightscape.

 _’No, no…’_

Her breathing intensifies, her heart at its maximum output as she glimpses him on the landing twenty stories below. He’s not looking at her, he’s not hearing how overrun and overwhelming her silence has become. He trusts that she’s keeping to her duties, just as she always has. 

_’Look at me, Joel. Just look at me and you’ll see. Don’t go in there. We can’t go in here.’_

Her hands finally succumb to the nerve-wracking hysteria. They cramp and change into a grizzly pair of misshapen claws, turning on and into themselves. They’ve become withering, useless appendages with every pump of her terrorized organ. 

Her semi-automatic pistol wobbles and nearly drops before she snaps-to well enough to enclose it in between a disfigured grasp. 

_”Joel.”_

“Ellie, s’okay. I don’t hear anyone. We gotta clear it otherwise we can’t stay here an’ there ain’t nowhere else for us to go.” 

“Mmm…” she mumbles, her mouth mercilessly dry and speech as woefully broken as the earth that lines Death Valley. She’s incapable of swallowing or speaking to release this terror. 

She’s gone mute. If only Joel knew. 

After laying an ear to the wood for a minute or so, he twists the handle and steps inside, confident there’s no one there. The man keeps a subdued profile and shores his footing, planting each boot firmly in place should someone or something move to strike. He roots himself and waits, listening closely as he angles his weapon and his eyes from one corner to the next making quick, analytical work of this space. 

There’s a door off to the right – he doesn’t hear Shimmer but assumes it’s another garage or storage space just the same. High market mountain lodges as big and grandiose as this tend to require empty excess to store all those goods the owners wanted but never needed. 

He notes cabinets and tables running the length of the room on either side and straight ahead, an impressively expansive view to the wilderness at the rear of the chalet. Each pane of glass – all three still intact, which is nothing short of a miracle these days – have snow drifts piling to slightly above their center. It’d be beautiful in a different era, under a different set of conditions but even this far out from the end of the world, beauty in any of its forms is easy to find, should one allow for it. 

His spine is to her as he takes in the sights, unaware of the situation unfolding directly behind him. Yet. 

“J-J… _oel_.”

“What’s–?” He turns at the pitiful tone and finds Ellie shriveling in on herself – she’s crumbling fast and he needs to get there before she crashes and shatters into a million broken pieces. He watches the pistol slip free and it hits the ground with all the grace of a dead thing finding its way among the ghosts – there’s no bounce, no metallic echo, it’s just down and done for. As she nearly is, that much he can sense. This image of her in such a state of undoing shocks him loose of their tactical operation and sends him forward in a mess of disjointed, fitful steps.

He gets there in mere seconds and falls to his knees before the girl, fearing the worst – that she’s been stabbed, shot (somehow without him having heard it), or some other unsuspecting health condition – like a heart attack or worse. Something physical that he means to fix and fix quickly. 

“Ellie?! Hey, what’s the matter? You hurt? Talk to me, sweetheart.” His hands are cradling her face and pulling her towards him, closer and closer still. He’s trying to redirect the attention of those pretty greens onto him and nothing else. Wants the room and all the cold, dark space surrounding them to evaporate and disappear long enough to give her fervency a respite. For her to see and feel him – to find comfort in him being here just as she’s done in recent days. 

But she’s trembling so profoundly he fears she’s been left adrift to the violence of a stormy seascape; her wreckage lost amongst the wake of a nameless hurricane that’s claimed her for its own. This is something he’s far too afraid of to properly get a handle on with all the familiar tactics, he knows that’s certain now. 

The vibrancy of her eyes is gone, there’s a bottomless black reflecting there; he sees his worry and the emptiness that’s filling her all at once. It’s a certain brand of torture that he’s unable to rouse her, that the precipice is singing louder to her than he is. 

This is...this is new and after a week of firsts with her, he feels as inadequate as ever. 

He pushes onward still, “Are you injured? What...what is happening? Ellie, baby, talk...” 

“D...drea...m,” the girl stutters, voice nearly inaudible amidst the intensity of this descension of darkness that’s falling upon her. He touches her lips, runs a finger along a shale, discoloring edging as he goes. 

“You mean _the_ nightmare? What’s...why’s it–okay, just breathe. I’m here. We’re here. Just you an’ me.” He soothes her by repeating his words, holding tight, touching generously and keeping his proximity as close range as he can without physically becoming one with the girl. 

“Th-this..ss the p-pla-ce, J...oel. It’s-I saw it hap-pen here, I-I-you, oh God…” Ellie trails off and goes lame against him. She surrenders to a symphony of choking gasps and gut wrenching sobs; her head bangs to the firm corded muscle above his breastbone as her desperate hands seek to grab anything she can get a hold of. She digs into his damp winter coat and squeezes, twisting the thick fabric and pulling, needing more. 

Each of his arms twine around her and pull tight, lifting her part way onto his lap and whispering all the words he can muster to tourniquet this blood loss from something that’s never happened. Something that shouldn’t be haunting her as persistent as it has and yet. 

“Shhh, darlin’ I’m here. It wasn’t real. I dunno why this is happenin’ but I need to...I gotta–tell me what to do, Ellie. Tell me.” He’s rocking them as his hands rub along the studs of her spine and snake through her loose, icy hair with a worry so great, he thinks only a drastic measure might be the way to undo all this emotional torment. 

He resigns himself and pushes all the rising protestations and noise to the wayside. 

Joel lifts the girl and tilts her face to his with the tips of his fingers, “Hey, baby. Remember what I said to you that winter so long ago? After...after that fuckin’ monster tried–do ya remember?” 

He doesn’t rush the girl to speak, just looks at her and feels his heart stir in a way it’s never done before. Add to that how she looks right now and Joel can feel the earth rumbling beneath his very bones. Calling to him to put it all on the line. For it cuts at him to glimpse all the tracks of tears that are carving pathways over her smooth, speckled cheeks. She nods eventually, and he uses his thumbs to wipe away the dissonant saline from her chilled skin. 

“Yo-you said you’ll ne-never leave me again.” 

“And have I?” 

Her expression softens a spell before she’s all but languishing to his person again, but he doesn’t let it happen this time. He keeps his palms to the delicate curve of her jaw and forces her gaze onto him. 

_“Have I?”_

Ellie studies his features – the scars and weather-beaten skin, and those peaks and valleys of his graying beard that she’s suddenly longing to trace a fingertip to. She swallows another dose of malaise and moves her skull with a fragmenting but definitive motion, “No, you haven’t. But–” 

“No _buts_ , Ellie. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.” 

With that, Joel leans in and kisses her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, first – this was supposed to be a MUCH longer chapter. I wasn't planning on ending where I did (I AM SORRY) but as a result of that cliffhanger, chapter 7 is fully outlined and should be posted earlier than my typical 8 day schedule! Wooo. I hope that makes up for it? 
> 
> But okay...there's that action that was promised. I hope it translated well; I'm an emotional writer so I lead with my heart and usually don't push beyond my comfort zones. That said, this fic will require a hearty amount of leaving my cozy little box to explore other, bigger boxes, so here's hoping I didn't leave you in a bad, boring way with all that Infected talk. ALSO I AM SO SORRY ABOUT BALBOA. That...broke me. But this isn't a forgiving world and losses will come and go as time passes (slow, slow passing of time, that is). 
> 
> Ellie is a filthy little shit in my story and I absolutely love her taunting and teasing Joel. So much more of that on the way, along with a few other breadcrumbs I may or may not have dropped throughout. 
> 
> & That's chapter 6! THANK ALL OF YOU SO FLIPPING MUCH FOR THE OUTPOURING OF AFFECTION YOU'VE SHOWN THIS LITTLE LABOR OF LOVE. I am beside myself with the warm and fuzzies, truly. 
> 
> Look for more of Joel and Ellie's stay at the Lodge, some...interesting discussions (including the Mandate) and finally, a Christmas moment in Jackson! xx


	7. & Celestial Wreckage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joel and Ellie spend the night at the Baldwin Mansion. There's...things that happen, things that are said, a dinner shared and some false truths, maybe? Then the journey to Jackson and a Christmas Tree Ceremony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I'm going to keep my collective comments for after the chapter! BUT this one is THICC. It's a whole lot of Joel and Ellie and this day to day tale that's being told. 
> 
> More at the close...

Joel returns Ellie from a loss that’s rooting in the very atoms that make her. There is no other choice, no salvation adequate enough for what’s needed in this high altitude of emotion. 

There’s no blood, no screams of agony or tidal waves of tragedy crashing upon her shores. What exists is this room and an endless moment that stretches beyond what she can see. There’s steel arms holding her close as ferric fingers breathe life into the glassy strands of her crimson hair. But as he dances amidst those frozen reeds, he loses the measure of his movements and time itself. 

For his lips are still...on hers. 

Ellie doesn’t register that the kiss is _a kiss_ , not initially anyway. The girl doesn’t know what’s happening or even where she is, only what it is to connect to this man in a string of hastily-synchronized physical responses. What it tastes like, too. There’s a tinge of iron on her tongue from the split of his lip and she pins a mental note to be mindful of that swollen area. But it’s... 

_’Good. It feels good. Don’t stop this, Joel. Don’t let me go.’_

Her mind alight, her body set adrift, it’s as though she’s being rescued from the maw of a mythical beast and brought into the only harbor she’s ever called home. This maelstrom of fear and want, of loss and scorching heat – they merge and interlace until the howls of a pain that never was becomes a muffling noise and nothing else. It’s as though his lips, his hands, his hold on her – all of _Joel_ – is replacing the acrimonious aftertaste of a terrifying week. 

But as the whirlwind tears her panic asunder, that rising cascade of recognition shifts her to a place from _before_. She glimpses Joel there, saddled on his horse, riding in a peaceful quiet towards a mirage of azure and gold. Joel, making breakfast and tossing the last strip of bacon onto her plate, even though she knows how much he loves the stuff. Joel, wrapping her in his favorite red and black blanket just as she drifts away on his couch. 

Her sea paints itself with the brilliance of his hazel as the tide washes in, and all else is summarily lost to the void behind her. 

No blood, no agony, no screams.

Joel’s mouth moves with hers as though they’ve done this time immemorial; his lips are chapping from the winter winds and there’s that fresh wound left by his brother but otherwise they’re full and warm. They press to hers – lingering, seeking admittance – a silent attestation for more. 

He feels her go rigid against him in the space between seconds but it doesn’t last; she opens like the blooming fields of Jackson in the Springtime, her hands twisting harder into his jacket as she kisses him. It’s as if she’s clinging to Joel for the first time again after years and miles and worlds spent apart. 

A sound of desperation seeps from her – was it a moan? – and Joel is feeble to stave the shiver that rips its way from tip to toe; they’re so close, so inseparably close. Her air mixes with his and it feels as though she is emanating heat like a high summer sun; only he can sense this warmth in the dead of winter.

Joel wraps a hand around the base of her head as he silently pleads for more, more of Ellie, more of the tangible. This vigor for her, for what they’re sharing, ignites in the wilderness of his belly like a forest fire – the embers catch and consume all the rest. 

The longer their movements continue, the more his heart becomes that of a wild thing in nature – every fevering _thump-thump-thump-thump_ is now akin to the pace of racing hooves. He runs opposite them, ignoring their mass exodus from the light and instead, throws himself into the inferno wholeheartedly. Joel welcomes these unrepentant and illogical actions because he _knows_ now. 

Knows he does crave her – that what he’s been feeling these past few days is not a farce but that it’s real. The want, the longing, the physical aspect – all of it. Real. He doesn’t wish to turn away from this revelation so instead, Joel acknowledges the evidence that is wholly present and irrefutable: his body _is_ answering to hers in ways that are both frightening and alluring as he chases the euphoria that is Ellie Williams. 

And so he tastes her, revels in this river of sensation and nothing beyond that. 

He gives in. 

The girl’s tongue slides with his in a languid, exploring sort of manner. She’s enjoying this, he knows that much – hopes she knows he is, too. He allows himself this deluge of togetherness, so long as she continues to allow for it, too. Right now there is no thought to consequence nor a shred of inner reprimand – all protestations have been laid to the wayside. In that vacancy, Joel eagerly seeks the softness and the slick of her, the fullness of those red lips and her plight as she sucks a few wisps of air in between. 

But as she makes that same noise he absolutely loves for the second time, a _sighmoan_ , Ellie’s head abruptly juts away. He holds her green eyes in his and discovers an expression so infinite that it stops the mechanics of his person in the hallows between their breaths. He’s never glimpsed a look like that before. Not from anyone. 

“Joel?” 

His features fall as he vents all the unsaid emotions he never intended on sharing; he’s leaking like a balloon that’s been pierced at peak volume, his resolve withering as the silence stretches on. His arms are losing their purchase as well, hands woeful and emptying in her wake. 

_’Fuck. I–I shouldn’ta done that. Shit.’_

“Ellie, I–” 

She doesn’t let his sentiment continue, instead, she eases onto her knees and unfastens the metallic teeth of his Carhart. She pinches the zipper and pulls it faster than how she was kissing him but slower to emphasize her resolve (or to work up the courage to keep doing what she’s doing, Ellie’s not sure which is which in this case). 

He looks at those petite hands as they reach the end of the line, anxiously notes how her fingers dither by his belt buckle and the only other zipper that’s left intact. He swallows and taps the pads of two fingers to her chin, redirecting her attention nearer to the surface than anywhere down below. 

_’This is goin’ too far. Stop this. I jus’...needed her to know. I need her.’_

“I think maybe–” 

She cuts him off again, almost toppling the big man onto his spine as she links to him with an urgency wholly unfamiliar. He’s never experienced this prior to now, not with any other woman at any point in his life. Not even with Tess after that night on the docks when everything went to hell and he thought he’d lost her to Lee and his pack of mad-men. God only knows what would have become of her had that happened. But that experience – the way they collided into each other once they found their back to the safehouse was the closest thing to passion he’s ever touched up against. 

But this unfathomable moment —here in this ice palace with Ellie — is running laps on that memory and then some. 

It’s scaring him. 

She grabs his jaw with one hand as the other wanders into the long, damp mess of his hair; she revels in how thick and full it is, at how much of it she can pull and hold onto, how it draws sounds from him she’s never heard. Sounds she never knew he could make. 

Joel is emitting these rumbling, tantalizing exhalations that do well in rattling her foundations; each eliciting an ache in the very fibers of her celestial being that seem foreign and familiar all the same. It’s as if that spark that’s so new is lighting up an instinctual desire – a hidden facet to what remains of humanity, yes, but this includes Ellie, too. It’s all intertwining with where she’s come from and what she hopes to create within, what she prays will possess all those secret hideaways inside that have always been so stark and disconsolate. 

Joel lets slip another enticing noise as her nails scrape his scalp with just enough pressure to share the wanton ache she’s feeling. She murmurs as she tugs and kisses on him – to his temple, his ear, even biting his jawline – anything to earn more of that emission. It feels like she’s drifting through an illusion of touching and needling these distinct and beautiful bits of him. 

It’s not nearly enough. 

She moves onto his lap and tries to make a notation of every detail while she does this. 

Ellie places her legs astride his waist with room enough to change her mind, should she want such a thing to occur. 

She instinctively senses this is where she belongs. 

For a brief moment though, she severs her lips to look south at him and grins mischievously. She lazily traces those peaks and valleys of his beard, his graying eyebrows and semi-droopy ears. Charts his textures to memorize as much as she can; something inside speaks to the impermanence of this union, something not sinister but shrouding the light all the same. 

Ellie fights it by leaning in, nipping at the corner is his bottom lip and sucking a spell. She runs her tongue along its edge, stopping before the broken skin, enjoying her meandering hands in tandem. Hands that have since journeyed from his hair to inside the canvas jacket, ready to stake their claim on the buttons of his flannel. She knows they need to free themselves of their snow-soaked clothing, knows they’ve been needing to do this since they first entered the chalet, but...that would have broken protocol. 

_’Technically this isn’t protocol either. But he’s not stopping...whatever it is I’m doing to him.’ Please don’t stop this, Joel.’_

As she clouds his every sense with how supernaturally natural it all seems, Joel descends into another realm, an altered state of being. In this elation, there comes the betrayal of another low groan; it’s of the rolling and rumbling type, sounding more like a growl from somewhere deep as he sinks lower and lower still. 

It’s at this precise moment when Joel is unable to recall if his vehicle has working brakes or not. Probably. Likely not. Maybe? 

_’You should...stop…goddammit. She’s too upset to know bett–’_

Ellie’s pulling at his mess of darkgray again and his willpower vanishes. 

It’s been...years since he’s given in to the pleasures of a woman and the physical tethers that result from that. He’s been on his own for so damn long that Joel can’t separate what’s right from what he wants. He finds that most of what was once desired has since been forgotten along this road of loneliness and empty nights. 

But in the chasm of his heart’s chaos and in the lightning that rushes through his veins to an ache beneath tacky denim, Joel accepts that all the world is here in his arms. She’s petite and lithe but strong – this girl as wild and as untamable as the swell of a creek after a seasonal rainstorm.

Both hands glissade to the flanks of her thighs as he grips and pulls her in, an effective expulsion that’s targeting the last remnants of whatever lingers between. It also lets her feel...more of him. He bites lightly, too, licking at the girl in a needful, albeit subtle way; he runs his tongue alongside hers, continuing this melodic dance known only by them. 

She whimpers – a conclusive throaty sound this time – and it lends to the depth of this woman’s truth: that she wants it as much as he wants it, no matter how impossible it may all appear after the fact. But as this vibration booms through and into him, Joel drops further beneath the refracting light that’s rippling above his head – all inhibitions sunken to an unseeable ocean floor far from where they are. 

He kisses Ellie with all of him then, a fervent and desperate sort of joining, as though the air in her lungs will be what stymies the darkness she’s been carrying this week. The darkness that’s returning them from a precipice while thrusting the pair into an unmapped universe altogether. 

Ellie’s movements are a mess of haste and partial inexperience throughout; she doesn’t know what she wants to touch, what she needs to feel first, only that she _has_ to keep pushing the boundaries with him. 

_’With Joel Fucking Miller.’_

She smiles at this inner musing, her eyes shutting all the world away; she’s paying into an imagination of her heart and his in concert with one another, the amalgamation hung behind impenetrable glass like a priceless work of art. She’s building a museum of her mind, studying this heart portrait and finding all of its nuance and vulnerabilities. Finding its beauty.

The frame that protects their sculpture is painted with a vibrance of color she’s incapable of truly witnessing; a union that’s set to a spectrum too vast, with wavelengths too extensive to fully absorb and honor with just one visit. 

Of all the ruins she’s walked through and all the wonders of a world gone straight to hell, this place is by far the most beguiling. 

_’Look at us, Joel, look at how far we’ve come. Show me how far we can go...’_

Ellie whispers his name as he tastes the chilled skin by her collarbone; her pulse hammers to a rabbits-pace and he all but breaks the zipper on his jeans in response. That sound, his name on her lips – he knows it’s nothing shy of a miracle. 

“Mmmm…” Her arms are looping around his shoulders, hands cradling that which she’s seen obliterated time and time again these past few nights. It keeps her fervor at bay and allows her to be wholly present with him, to understand the truth that he’s never left her. It keeps her apart from the basement, away from the horror and the tragedy that may steal him at any moment.

_’No, it’s just you and me, like our song. No one is taking you away from me.’_

She feels his strength surge as he tightens his hold on her hips, feels him move her like those waves that were once thrashing all about. Only they’re going far slower and purposeful now. 

“More…” she drives, the girl’s voice lower than it’s ever been. 

He gives her more. 

Joel traverses from her waist to her rear, palming each of her globes with firm, needful grasps. His hands are almost too big for how small she is, and when he finally thinks about how it feels to have her this way – before the shame sets in like a poison, before he makes a mess of it all – he will remember how perfect she is for him. How every bit of this woman seems as though she were made for him – just as every bit of him was made for her. 

But he’s not thinking of that yet, instead he squeezes her flesh and rolls her center onto him again and again. He presses himself up to meet her as he does this, rocking Ellie against his hard outline as she grinds on him and mewls for something beyond this. Something to fill the boiling hole between her thighs. 

He kneads the tight muscle of her backside and wants so much to have every part of her – wants to give in to the seduction that’s calling to them like a siren on a strangers sea. 

He’s craving this friction in a way he’s not come to before; yearning to be in that sacred space between her legs, to feel the heat of the furnace that’s burning him alive directly and without hesitation. Her head eventually drops back as they go harder on each other, those red lips parting as Ellie comes undone by the way he feels beneath her. She never wants this to stop. Never wants to return to Jackson or leave this new settlement she’s found in his embrace. 

“Joel…” 

At the whining desire so laden and overwhelming to her tone, Joel joins her in this parallel place of unreality where all tension and control is at its peak; the man releases a hand and brings it down onto her with a light smack and a feral grip to match. She yelps and hisses as she sets her forehead to his, “Oh God... _fuck, Joel_.” 

He growls and their lips collide, all teeth and heavy breathing with an generous echo of _wet_ at first; they’re tasting, sucking and nipping at one another with reckless abandon. He angles her onto him with precision, knows what he’s hitting even through her jeans, knows what it’s doing to her by the seductively rich sounds she’s squeaking out. 

He focuses on an image that’s constructing in his mind – of them going further and how he wants to _see_ what it is he’s striking at one gyration at a time. He damn near gasps at the mere idea of this but then comes to find the girl roaming unimpededly over his upper body – seeking what’s been kept hidden from her. What she knows is there after so many nights beside him. 

It’s when those small limbs slide under his arms and her nails return – this time dragging across the corded muscle of his back – that Joel believes he might have found himself in real trouble this time. That any sense of discipline or experience will ultimately amount to nothing at all. Not with Ellie. 

He lets her explore wildly as he does the same; she’s intertwining her hands with his hair now before grabbing onto his shoulders to ease the trembling and ground herself in a different way to him; they don’t stay there long. After a tick or two, her hands ride south of his midsection, separating a row of buttons along the way. 

She’s going lower and lower and lower. 

“Ellie…” 

“Yes. _Please...”_

“We–”

A forceful gust of wind batters itself into the tryptic of windows and it shocks Joel’s focus directly towards it, abruptly landing him in the present with one fell, hazardous swoop. The Chalet, the storm, Balboa’s death – it all rushes to the forefront in a dousing pictorial of recent events, leeching all traces of desire and respite from him. 

He peers around militantly, checking the windows behind them, clocking the doorway off to his left that he’s not gone through yet – that could have cost them dearly – before he turns his gaze onto her. 

Ellie’s hands are halfway on his throat and halfway on his jawline as she tries to return his ardor; she’s not been properly thieved from their moment like he is and though she can’t place the beginning of their quasi-tryst, she knows she doesn’t want it to end so soon. Not on account of the weather. 

Joel levels his breathing but moves his palms to index a much safer territory – her ribs. He doesn’t _want_ to stop this, not really, but the questionable nature of what he’s done with her is starting to slither into his psyche. It comes to him like the hiss of a reptile that’s snapping at his ankles, its venom tracking marks into the branches of his brain, telling him he’s going to fuck up again. 

But he won’t share that with her. 

Another hit of venom surges through his blood as the distaste for lying to her, or omission as a lesser of two evils, infects him like a burdensome weight. 

“Baby, I...we should sto–we need’a get outta these damp clothes before we catch a chill.” 

She hears his stuttering words but chooses to pretend them away, to pretend he’s not done with her or hosing the fire that’s torn her apart as though she were built from match paper. Ellie offers herself up willingly as she tilts forward and rides the rails of his bearded jawline with the tips of her fingers. 

Her mouth opens slightly, she levels with him before, “I want this.” 

He gulps and closes his eyes, presses his forehead to hers and secures his arms around her middle – an embrace that restores just enough courage to keep to this one-way direction. For her, for him, neither knows for certain. 

She moves and pushes her lips to an ear – the one with the scar she loves to smooth between an index finger and a thumb as she’s falling asleep in arms that are fit for protecting her. Ellie kisses the fine mark on his lobe before licking at it tentatively and bringing it into her mouth in a way she’s never done before – with anyone – but it feels right just the same. 

Joel doesn't stop her, nor does he open his eyes and encourage her. He just sits, holds on and _feels._

The venom is being pulled from him with every bit of her suction and he longs with a great ferity to give her what she wants, what he wants. 

_But._

He senses the exact moment her intentions deepen; she moves south on his throat, licking and breathing him in, hands wandering just as they were a few minutes prior to their wintry interruption. She shifts lower, all confidence and bravado, and runs her teeth to the pronounced collarbone there, her fingers prying the v of his long-sleeve shirts part-way open. 

_’Fucken...Christ alive, you feel so good, sweetheart.’_

She murmurs something as she exposes more of his skin, rolling her hips just like he did with hers and angling onto him harder each time. 

Joel’s palms glide across her, pulling her in again of their own accord; he’s cradling that beautiful head of hers as he silently begs for more, hoping that if he makes a go for it, she will give it all in return. 

But he hears a warning – somewhere in the recesses of a mind that’s spent far too much time separated from this girl – he knows he needs to stop. For now, for the night. For...ever, maybe. 

“Ellie.”

_”Joel.”_

“Mmmph, g’ddamn. C’mere, girl.” Whatever remains in the tank of his steely resolve and uncompromising self-control, the man now bleeds dry. He grabs and stills her waist and leans away, breaking her contact almost entirely. He’s still achingly hard, his balls throbbing and insides set aflame but this – capitalizing on her fright and fear – is not the way _it_ should be. Not the way things should begin, should this really be their beginning.

Ellie deflates in his lap, visibly and viscerally. She knows whatever sorcery existed that brought them together has been cast aside in favor of routine and...something else. Something unreadable that she doesn't have a name for yet but bears the acrid, familiar scent of fear. Her chest sinks inwards as her emeralds go crestfallen; her features are a frown short of despondent and Joel finds himself submerging alongside her. 

“Hey, look’a me,” he says, tipping her chin to raise a pair of melancholic mossy-greens to meet, “Let’s get changed, you’re freezin’. We gotta scrounge up some clothes and I gotta get’a fire goin’. Make us some dinner, too. How’s that sound?” 

He sees his girl bounce in a jerky sort of acknowledgment but the room is blanketed by the mutation of this new quiet. It’s bound to become a weighty stillness, a consuming soundlessness, should he allow for it. 

To stem the vacancy, Joel is trying to gain insight into her emotions, to gauge how far he’s set them off course in a matter of seconds; to figure on how much distance she’s preparing to place between him and her; this is all new for both but especially her. At least, he thinks as such, despite being almost completely unsure as to her experience and history. He only knows of his own and theirs from right now. 

He redirects, praying to anything that may listen that they fix a modicum of what could be breaking right before his eyes. He can’t do this to her. Not like this. 

“Listen, we gotta sweep that. Got my six?” Joel arches an eyebrow as he looks over his shoulder at the aforementioned room, then back to study the girl. Waits. Gives her time. 

She swallows, runs through the wily collective of her cooling red and pulls on her bottom lip a beat. All while avoiding his gaze. 

“Yeah. Sure.” 

She rises after and massages a knot in the base of her neck before coming face to face with a black void: The staircase. It glares at her like a vile demon crouching in the shadows, watching and waiting for her to return to the nightmare. She shivers and forces the entity from her thoughts, but the sickly-white ivy and an infinity awaits; Ellie knows she’ll have to trek the ghostly corridor when it’s time but not a moment sooner.

She turns and finds Joel motionless, eyes brimming with that same _something_ as they bore holes into her bones. She wants to understand and process all that’s gone on this entire week – from the terrors of their nights to the Mandate and now...this. With him. 

“Right. Let’s get this over with. I’m cold and these clothes are becoming a part of me.”

††††

With the lodge verifiably free of Infected, Hunters and any stragglers that may or may not have found themselves in such a grandiose place, Joel and Ellie start their search for dry dressings. Fresh clothes that aren’t moth eaten or insect ridden are incredibly difficult to come by, especially within hidden gems such as the Baldwin Mansion. But there’s enough in each of the accessible rooms to properly cover and, hopefully, keep them warm for the night. Blankets, too.

With the house fully secure, Ellie seizes an opportunity to insert a dose of distance between her and Joel. It’s not time yet to pour through every event, but she recognizes that there’s a high chance of wrecking the last vestiges of her heart, should she dare to speak on anything of substance. Which is all that’s on her mind at present. 

It won’t bode well to boil over. 

“Gonna go to the bathroom...or whatever, and get out of these rags. Starting to chafe in all the wrong areas.” The girl doesn’t allow for a reply as she takes to the stairway, gaze set on the level above and a respite she’s desperately seeking. 

“Alright. I’ll...do the same an’ get some food goin’. Fire, too.” 

Silence is the only thing that greets in her wake. 

They’re intentionally self-isolating – her upstairs, him down – and in this division that’s evolving like a widening canyon, Joel swallows a great bout of unease; the house is suddenly too big and too small, and his heart is beating too fast and too slow at the same. The impact of what he’s done – or might have done – in this forgotten palace amidst the din of a shattered world loops like a video of shame. 

But he’s unsure if that shame is from giving in – to help the girl at first – or if it’s in the taking of himself back when the physical acts culminated to a level he believed to be...unacceptable. He never takes advantage of anyone in any situation, regardless of circumstance or however willing a participant may be. 

Joel grimaces, pats his belly and inhales as deeply as his lungs permit. Today’s been an exhausting day; his bones ache, his balls are sore, his clothes are uncomfortably damp and he’s hungry as all hell. He makes the conscious decision to stow his emotional rhetoric for the time being and lead with the analytical side of his brain instead. 

Walking to the fireplace – a grand sight of finely crafted oak, of course – he kneels to the hearth and tosses a few logs into its belly. He’s thankful to whomever was recently here for the inventory of chopped wood and has a mind to dedicate a toast to them one day. Small victories.

Joel swings his backpack to the front and it hits him then: Through all of their transpiring in the basement, they were still armed to the teeth. He laughs at the irony and retrieves his lighter from the bag's abyss, triggers the ignition and sets the splintered kindling ablaze. He tosses it in, uses the poker to shift it this way and that for a minute or so, while losing himself to the crackling pops of floats of orange embers. It’ll be warm enough to sleep in the living room tonight but he’ll need to tend to it and ensure it stays. 

He scans the expansive room and inventories what they’ll need when it is time to rest but for now, Joel ruminates that this might be one of the most comfortable places they’ve ever marooned. And he and Ellie have certainly seen the worst of the worst along the way. Rabid rodents hell bent on their blood, rotten and fetid organic matter he’s happy never to think of again and all the other elemental discomforts to match. But this is a...palisade worth appreciating. Worth returning to one day down the line. 

Joel rises, puts the fire to his rear and assesses to the leather couch – it’s intact minus a few dry rotting splits from years of going in and out of sunshine. He wonders if the cushions are amply pliable to use as bedding and goes to check as such; they’re firm from the temperate contracting and icy conditions in this space, but not so far gone that he can’t poke and make them work. 

After, he catches sight of what he needs at the opposite end of the sofa and nods to no one; it’s time and the farther on he goes without shedding his damp clothes, the more he runs the risk of sickness. 

The man sorts through the meager garment pile collected from various bureau searches; selects a dark wool sweater that’s mostly in good shape along with a pair of thick red sweatpants to mate. They’re dingy and the color is noticeably fading, but they’re in his size range and dry. He sniffs the fabric and shrugs – the scent isn’t all that bad, just musty with a distinct odor of...time. It’s clear they’ve been abandoned for years, lost to the days and nights, forgotten by all else save for the lonely cries of savage wolves at the door. 

Joel groans as he sits on the couch, groans as he leans forward to unlace his boots one at a time. The cold is hell on his joints, his muscles stiff and acuity more than ready for the day to come to a close. But he knows that’s a ways off yet. He groans dejectedly. 

Methodically, he undresses, mind purposely full of nothing but the task at hand. 

He pushes his scarred and blood-splattered footwear to the side and removes his socks next. He’s happy to know that there are a few clean pairs in his pack, fortunately for him; he didn’t prepare for an entire overnight stay but he’s avid in his tactics of avoiding trench foot or frostbite whenever possible. 

The jacket is next to go, his flannel after that, but luckily, Ellie’s already undid the majority of his buttons and makes this menial chore all the easier. 

_’Ellie.’_

The nothingness fades as Joel thinks of those slight hands on him and how desperate and wanting the girl was – just as he had been. 

_’No. Focus, you ol’ asshole.’_

He knows there will be time to consider all that’s happened here – so far at least – as well as over the course of the week, but for right now, Joel forces the tempting thoughts of her away. He tramples those predilections as far south as they can go without removing them entirely – for he doesn’t want that either. 

The price of this level of confusion would be shocking, if he had the wherewithal to acutely sort through it all at present. 

Which, he doesn’t. 

The last top layer, a ribbed undershirt, comes over his head and he shivers from an early evening chill, in spite of the roaring furnace at the hearth. His chest hair is matted and flat, his skin cool and far too pale. He rubs there a moment, using friction from his palms to instill a warmth similar to the kind her touches had offered him. 

At the thought of the woman – again – he rattles and immediately stems the attention he’s paying himself. It won’t do Joel any favors to linger and fantasize about that which he no longer has. Least in this moment. 

_’In any moments, you shit.’_

His belt buckle, jeans and boxers are the last adorning pieces and as he looks south, he falters a tick; did Ellie really get so far as to slide the loose end free of its metallic clasp? He sees the evidence plain as day but he can’t rectify how far things went in such a short amount of time. Like a collision of connection, each drove the other farther down that winding path of passion – but even knowing that, he still feels himself taken aback by the image. 

Of his belt part way undone.

Joel wonders what he she might have done to him, how it would feel to have her touch him in that way. 

_’Stop. It.’_

Grumbling, he sloughs the rest of his clothing and kneels by his pack, naked as the day he was born. His balls are pulling tight to his body and there’s an ache to them that’s starting to buckle the trust he has with his infallible control. He’s contemplating relief – of taking care of this discomfort in a quick and hasty manner but knows, again, that it’s not the time for that. 

He groans again.

Still, the man didn’t intentionally lay himself bare – he’s too cold to knowingly do that and he also doesn’t know when Ellie might take the steps two at a time to find him like this. No, it’s that he can’t seem to locate the reserve boxers he definitely stowed and while it’s not altogether upsetting, it will make it...more difficult to hide things, should– _’No, ain’t none’a that happenin’ anymore.’_

He silently berates and slings cruelties full of despicable connotations at himself but he knows, Joel _knows_ he doesn’t mean a single syllable of it. It’s empty calories of the conscience mind and his morality is suffering as a direct result of them. 

But what he doesn’t understand is...why. Why he wants but why he’s trying to trick himself into thinking that he doesn’t want. He has an idea but not a full resolution and that above all else prickles like the tiny thorns of a shelf cactus. It doesn’t hurt but it doesn’t feel all that good either. 

_’You’re in trouble. This is a troublesome situation.’_

Resigning that he somehow did not bring an additional pair of underwear along, Joel unfolds the clean socks and slips them on in short order. Then the red sweats – they catch on his hair at first, what with how unforgiving they still are – but he pats and and smooths his hands to them to work the fabric into a passable state of comfort. 

“Hey.” 

Joel spins, still only half-dressed but adding wide-eyes to his wardrobe now. He finds Ellie at the base of the stairs looking on curiously; her eyebrows are arching but there’s a smirk to her lips that confirms she was almost certainly sneaking a peek. He pointedly ignores that for the time being. 

She’s wearing a pair of light blue overalls that are much too big for her frame and an ostentatious Christmas sweater with Santa featuring front and center. That classic wink on the big man’s red face is leering at Joel and judging him all the while. He’s apparently seen something of his body, too.

“Uh, hey. Didn’t hear ya.” 

“I know.” She shrugs at that as she hops off the last step and walks towards the fire. 

“It’s nice and cozy in here already.” 

Joel notes the shift in her attitude but can’t deduce if it’s a positive or a negative, not yet anyway. She was stony and downtrodden the last they interacted and that was only a half hour or so ago. Could there be that much of a change in such a minuscule length of time? What might have happened in the bedroom to result in a shift like this?

He supposes anything is possible, remembering that affair in the basement and how it went from zero to one hundred in less than five seconds flat. 

“Mmhm. Needed it. We oughtta keep close to this part of the house for the night. Gonna start dinner. Roast beef ground hash an’ those peaches you found. Whaddya think?” 

She watches Joel pull the sweater over his torso and paw at it once the clothing is fitted as well as can be; it’s not his size and is running a little high at the waist but it’ll do the job. 

“Sounds good. Want help?”

††††

“So you’re telling me that not only were there ice cream trucks that drove around in the summertime blaring annoying music, but that there was direct-to-your-door food delivery...for most times of the day? Jesus fuck, I’m jealous. Just having my food caught, cooked and put right in my hand without doing fuckall for it? Ugh. You suck.”

Joel licks his spoon and smiles as he finishes the last of his favorite side dish. The hash wasn’t all that bad but the peaches were what he was really looking forward to most. 

“Mmhm, all kinds’a food, too. Pizza, wings, Chinese, BBQ...you name it.” 

Ellie scrunches her nose and grits her teeth in a mock growl, “You guys had it so good.” She sighs before, “Okay. If you could have one of those magic food vans deliver any delicacy in the world to you right now, what would you choose?” 

Joel clears his throat and presses his back to the couch; he runs both of his hands through the puffy, unkempt hair and pulls at it as he indulges her whimsical game. 

Ellie’s breath hitches. 

_’No. I said I wasn't gonna think about him like that until we’re home. Not until I can make heads or tails of this craziness.’_

“Um…” Joel pauses for a second time and then closes his eyes, “Oh, I got it. _Franklin Barbecue_ brisket. Was this great place in Austin. Me an’ Tommy used to go damn near every weekend when they opened a few years before the Outbreak. Best damn pits you could buy, too. Never could afford one but I reckoned when I was old, like I am now, maybe I’d treat Sarah an’ me.” 

He touches his watch face and Ellie’s brow line caves in, “I didn’t mean for...ya know.” 

Joel sucks his sore lip and bobs his head once, twice, “No, no. ‘S’alright. Anyway, s’what I’d order. Damn, could I go for that brisket right now.” 

He rubs his tummy, exhales a laugh and Ellie feels the sensitive tension spill away, falling off the edge of a cliff they rode by but didn’t stop at. He’s better at that these days. Better at managing a lot with certain emotions. 

“That sounds delicious. I’ve never had brisket. Maybe you and Tommy could build a...pit, whatever that is, and you can cook it for me. Ya know, being the Master Chef that you are and all.” 

Joel nods, relaxes a bit more as he lays his hands in his lap, “Maybe. What ‘bout you? What’d you want?” 

The girl puckers her lips and blows through them, fully animated and silly but still no answer to his question. She scratches her scalp and shrugs her shoulders before finally, “How the hell should I know? Actually no. I just want chocolate. Chocolate is godly. Was there a chocolate delivery service?” 

“I’m certain there was. Just can’t recall off the top’a my head.” 

After, Joel rises to a symphony of popping bones and walks their plates and spent utensils out to the kitchen counter. He’ll clean them tomorrow before they leave, or before he hopes they can leave. 

“Well that’s what I want. A bucket of chocolate chips and Harry’s Kisses.” 

Joel tilts at that and looks back to her in utter confusion, hoping to locate a clue as to what in the world she’s talking about. 

“H–Harry’s...Kisses?” 

“Yeah, ya know. Those cute foil-wrapped drops of solid chocolate? I’ve never eaten one but they look delightful as fuck.” 

Joel bends at the middle in a fit of laughter and actually slaps a thigh as he returns to his spot near to her. Through the din of his mounting glee though, he sees the pink flush of embarrassment seep into her pale cheeks and knows it’s time to put her out of her misery. 

He curls a fist and places it to his cheek, leans and looks at her, _”Hershey’s_ Kisses?” 

A wash of complete dumbfoundedness marches across Ellie’s features before it hits her, “Ohhh. Yeah, those.” 

She laughs along with him before throwing a dirty sock at his misfit of a sweater – it’s dry from sitting in front of the fireplace all during dinner but the heat did no favors for its unpleasant smell. 

“Making fun of me! How was I supposed to know exactly what they were called, you fucker.”

He laughs harder at that and lobs the filthy garment back at her. 

She catches and returns it to the floor, but first wipes away the residual condensation that was gathering beneath it. She likes that she knows all his tips. 

_’Speaking of tips…’_

“You’re lucky I didn’t throw your boxers at you.”

“Mmhm, lucky you, more like. Anyway, reckon we should get some sleep. Sun’ll be up later than I’d like but I could use the extra hours, if I’m bein’ honest.” 

“Actually, I was wondering if we could...talk? Just for a little while, then you can catch all the z’s your heart desires.” 

A lead weight drops in Joel’s gut and he gulps; he comes close to clutching his abdomen in an effort to purge the pocket of nerves that are gathering there all of a sudden. 

“Alright then. What’s on your mind?” 

The girl goes and eases in closer to him, crossing her legs and leaning her elbows onto the soft hollow spaces by her knees. She picks at her nails and worries her bottom lip before, “Why did you stop, downstairs? I know...I mean I don’t _really_ know too much of what the hell I was doing but I thought it felt good. Really good actually. Di-did I do something wrong?” 

He leans forward and scoots to her, grabs the side of her arms and rubs his thumbs affectionately; the sweater is so soft, somehow, and thick, she’ll keep warm through to the morning even when the fire runs low. 

All this mental sidestepping is meant to spare himself time to gauge what it is he should say here. 

“No, sweetheart. You didn’t do a thing wrong. It felt amazin’, _you_ felt amazin’. But Ellie, you were outta sorts an’ panickin’ an’ I was an asshole for takin’ advantage of that. It wasn’t my intention, I promise. I just wanted...I needed to calm you down an’ after a week of us bein’ so close, it...it felt like the way of things. I shouldn’ta done that.” 

She pulls away a measure, retaking her limbs as she works to discern the unwritten novel inside of those hazel eyes...and to go beyond that typical surface tension that’s always there. He’s guarding himself, she knows that for certain. But from what remains frustratingly cloudy and questionable still. 

“Okay. So...you regret it?” 

He looks up to the ceiling and drifts; Ellie fixates on his Adam’s apple and stares at the rise and fall of it throughout his inner calculations. Her insides are mirroring his own, only he can’t glimpse as much and isn’t looking at her; now that she’s considering it, he’s hardly made any eye contact since before their...thing in that cursed cellar. Well, not his usual amount in any case. 

“I...just maybe it wasn’t right. What this week’s dealt s’been a lot. The nightmare, the Mandate, and then the horde. Now we’re stuck here, down a horse, an’ this is, if I’m readin’ it correct, the exact place of what’s hauntin’ ya. Ellie, I’ve seen ya scared. I ain’t never seen that before. I didn’t know what else to do.” 

She swallows a stinging swell of bile and steadies her voice as best she’s able, “So yes. You regret it.” 

He reaches for her but she jumps up and stalks towards the sofa, all clenching fists and rigid muscles now. 

She makes a clicking and unleashes, “Ya know what, no. You don’t regret it at all, do you? You enjoyed it, Joel. You wanted me and I _felt_ that – how could I not have felt that? But you’re cowering because you’re scared. And blaming it on what? That somehow you took advantage of me? Sure, let’s say that’s true for a second. That maybe I’m screwed in the head after watching you die night after night in that fucking hole in the ground and maybe I’ll wake up one day and see I’m lying next to you and wonder how the fuck I got there. Or maybe, just maybe, after two years apart from you, the universe saw fit to remind me of what I’d given away. But now things are different. I’m not that little girl that needs your protection anymore, am I, Joel? They’re not all that different though, are they? Because you’re still that old man making decisions on my behalf. Or maybe I read it all wrong because how would I know anything for sure? Right? Is that what you’re saying?” 

The girl stops pacing and hammers a palm to each of her hips, tries to steady her fervor and gain control of the emotional turmoil that’s firing in her every synapse. She’s so angry, so ferociously mad at this man but she knows it’s beyond mere rage this time. He’s rejecting her...turning her away, again, just like he partially did in his house last night after the Mandate meeting. Only this is far worse. There’s more on the line now than there’s ever been. More because of what _his_ choice to kiss her. No matter the reasoning.

“Ellie–” 

“I think you’re right, Joel. We should get some sleep.” 

He brings himself to stand in front of her, his system feeling the shocks and the aftermath of her visceral, poisonous rhetoric. It was clear she’s been holding onto most of that for a long, long time. But it pisses him off, too. 

“No. I don’t need another two g’ddamn years to pass before you come knockin’ on the door in the middle of the night. I ain’t decidin’ nothin’ for you. I just think if there’s to be a right time for...this, it ain’t right now. It ain’t while you’re practically breakin’ down in front’a me every night. When have you ever needed me the way you have these last few days, Ellie? An’ what kinda man would I be to try an’ help you while helpin’ myself to...whatever coulda happened?”

Joel’s pointing to the kitchen and the cellar door in tandem, his chest rising and plummeting in an arrhythmic form of discontent and disbelief. He can’t have her leave his life but he won’t acquiesce either. This _is not_ the time; she’s not okay from deluge of nightly fear and with a Mandate looming and intensely impactful choices to be made, the last thing he will do is apply pressure to an infection. 

The fingers of each hand fidgets with one another in front of her belly as she prepares herself for what’s to come. It’s a nervous tick she takes to whenever there’s uncertainty on her horizon. 

“Joel, do you regret kissing me, or not?” 

His eyes languish to the wooden floor as a once great and luminescent fire burns itself into fine particles of ash. He’s withering, teetering on a high-wire of what’s right and what he wants – of offering the girl his truth or ceasing all of this with another lie. Another lie that will either end them when she inevitably moves on from Jackson or one she will believe but not take kindly to. 

“Ellie, it’s not that simple. It’s not ‘bout regret or what I want, it’s ‘bout what’s right.” 

“Just answer the question. Please, Joel. I have to know.” 

He steps to her, she doesn’t move away this time.   
He grabs her anxious hands and intertwines his fingers with hers.   
Holds her a moment – holds onto the moment.   
Partially lets go – tilts her chin north so their eyes meet. 

“No. I don’t regret a single moment of you. But...it was a mistake. We can’t do this. Not right now, not with a...baby Mandate on the line. And I dunno when, an’ maybe when it’s right you’ll have moved on, an’ that’s...well, that’ll have to be okay, won’t it? An’ I’ll always be here, you know that. But...until things settle, until we talk of that fuckin’ Mandate, I won’t put you in a position you might not really want, Ellie. Don’t ask me to do that.” 

Joel doesn’t mention his age or hers in all of this – it wouldn’t do either of them any good to spout irrefutable facts. Facts that she’s clearly paid little to no mind towards this evening whatsoever but that he can’t seem to _stop_ thinking of. 

Her features soften but there are tears pooling in the corners of her beautifully sage eyes.

“Okay.” 

She rises to her tippy toes and loops her arms around his neck; it’s not what she was hoping for – even though he is right: She has no idea _what_ it is that she wants exactly. From him, from this most especially. Her body may already know, but that accounts for only a few threads of their nameless tapestry, not the whole collective itself. 

Regardless, he didn’t lie to her and that’s a testament to their growth – a testament to all they’ve learned in the months and years spent so near but so far apart from one another. 

Ellie embraces Joel wholeheartedly and hangs there a beat longer than his willpower is comfortable reasoning with. He feels his body reacting of its volition and Joel wants nothing more than to run full-tilt after the arousal but thankfully, she separates before that’s an option. 

“Speaking of, we should really talk about that whole Mandate mess, huh?” 

Joel chuffs as his arms drop from her and crash at his sides. He turns away and stealthily fixes himself in his sweatpants so he’s not embarrassingly obvious and takes a seat on the nearest couch cushion. He bends a leg just in case. As he rubs his weary eyes and coarse beard, rolling his neck in a series of stretching exercises, he thinks of how many twists and turns this day has seen them through. 

He hears the creaks, cracks and echos of his structure speak to his tiresome state. 

_’Too damn old.’_

It’s now or later and he doesn’t think she can do anymore laters. 

“Well, what’re your thoughts on it?” 

Ellie occupies the open space next to him and pulls her legs into herself, hiding Santa’s cheerful judgement while shuttering the barriers of her unease simultaneously.

“My thoughts are I’m pissed Maria and Tommy didn’t say dickall to us. This is clearly a thing they’ve been planning for how long now? But I know you feel the same about that. I mean, you did punch him in the face not twenty-four hours ago.” 

Joel leans and rests against the sun-split leather and nods, “That I did. He got me, too, lest we forget.” 

He gestures to his burgeoning lip and rolls his eyes in feigned annoyance. Of all the wounds and physical atrocities he’s endured, this latest is of no consequence. It just is. 

“Why’d you go after him like that?” 

Joel juts his chin forward and raises his eyebrows, “You know why.” 

“Because of me?” She unfurls and bends her legs beneath themselves and her backside. Sets an elbow onto the top of the sofa and looks at him, waiting for a response. 

“Of course. I don’t like the idea of you bein’ forced to do anythin’ let alone...that. It ain’t right. Havin’ to bring a child into this world or choosin’ the roads again. An’ with your...immunity, well, it makes me concerned is all.” 

Ellie offers a half-smile as she absorbs his words and chews on them a spell. Wonders if there’s more to it than that, wonders about himself in all this, too. So, she inquires.

“And you? This can’t be easy for you either, Joel.” 

He scratches at a phantom itch on his fading red sweats and tables a leg onto his other, “Ya know, I don’t think I have an answer to that. It’s a...lot.” 

Ellie gives that same side-smile but it’s remorseful on this go around; there’s no pity to her gaze but rather a knowing sort of sadness that’s permeating. Her heart extends and is sympathetic to him but she can never truly empathize. God forbid she ever has to. She shivers at the thought. 

“Can I ask what side you’re leanin’ towards? It maybe ain’t for me to know but with everythin’ else goin’ on, I suppose askin’ ya might not cross too many lines.”

She laughs at his last and it feels good – they’re not full up on bitterness or acting callously to one another and her anger is all but diminishing; Ellie’s trying to navigate these new seas as best she can so she relies on what remains in her arsenal: Humor. She resigns herself to take it minute by minute, hour by hour if need be, one diffusing bad joke at a time. 

“Leanin’ on a prayer, mostly.”

He doesn’t see the humor in that, despite an expertly delivered Bon Jovi pun. 

Ellie realizes that until she’s alone to process and write of this in her journal (which she desperately misses doing), she won’t understand the story of her heart just yet. 

Flashes of Joel’s semi-rejection come to her suddenly and she remembers. Remembers how his arms were holding her apart and those bruising and busted lips called it all a mistake. How the time isn’t right, that the here and now is just not ideal. That he would be taking advantage of her. That she was too distraught and off her axis, essentially, to want him or want whatever it was they were angling towards. 

Then there was the restlessness of every sleepless night once she learned of his truth about Salt Lake. Then the lies he told, over and over and over again, and the way he misled and abused her trust. The way he _decided_ for her. How angry and betrayed she felt for so long. 

Ellie takes in the sight of him with this wash of recent and vivid memories plaguing her, and notes the exact second every emotion inside of her spills overboard. They splash in a subversive show of necessity and self-awareness. 

She has to do what needs to be done. Just like he did. 

The girl hardens herself and makes the choice to sever the future days of heartache that loom like a dangling noose. 

“I don’t want kids.” 

The whites of his eyes shine for the briefest of moments but it isn’t so quick that she misses the momentary surprise there. It’s evident he didn’t expect her to say that. There’s something laden there as well, but it flees before she has the chance to hold onto it for another time. 

“So, the road then?” 

The girl affirms as much but turns away from him; she stares unblinkingly into the fire and feels the cold snake into the hollow of her bones, slithering and casting shadows on all the bleaching bits that silently accost her. 

“Seems likely.” 

Joel licks the distending bubble of broken flesh on his mouth and winces ever-so, thinks of Tommy and Maria and the Mandate and Ellie not wanting kids and the road that seems so far and endless ahead of him again. He knows now what he’ll do when the time comes to choose new life or probable death. 

A pregnant silence swells in the space between them. He doesn’t know what to say and neither does she. 

“Wanna get some shut eye, Mr Claus?” 

The girl giggles with abandon, caught off guard and appreciative of his successful attempt to lighten the mood. She picks at her Santa sweater and smiles, “Thinking of wearing this to the Christmas party next week. What do you think? Suits me or nah?” 

Joel leans in and smiles, “If you don’t wear it then I will. Now, c’mon. I’m sore as hell an’ dead on my feet.” 

Ellie inhales, ignores his _too soon_ of a quip and sinks to the floor where a hearty stockpile of blankets and pillows await. She settles onto her knees and unhooks the metal clasps on her overalls; she slides the jean one-piece down and tosses it towards the fire. Joel’s there currently stoking it while adding a few more logs to the count with good measure. 

He doesn’t see her undress, doesn’t need to. He knows what she’s comfortable sleeping in, no matter the temperature. Reckons it’ll be agony and wonders if he can slip away at some point in the night to offer himself an ounce of relief. The mansion _is_ large enough, after all.

“That should buy us a few hours at least. I’ll keep an eye out.” 

“I can wake up and do the work, too, Joel. Let me. Just come over here and sleep, okay?”

_’Fuck.’_

They settle beside one another, face to face, fingers laying curled on the comforter beneath them. Neither of them is certain as to what protocol is now, so both are just there, waiting on the other to make the first move. 

Ellie does and Joel’s instantly grateful for that. 

“Just because you don’t wanna make out with me anymore doesn’t mean we don’t get to resume our battle positions come nightfall.” 

He snorts but brings her into his woolen sweater and wraps his arm to her middle. She molds to him, their limbs intertwining; it keeps them together, close and that’s all either of them really want at this moment. 

“Fair enough, Red. ‘Night.”

††††

“You good to go?”

The girl applies ample pressure to his middle to signal that she’s ready to put this place in their rear-view. They’ve packed their belongings, plus a handful of new things, including that military-grade rucksack, his red sweats and Ellie’s Santa sweater. And the peaches, too, of course. 

Joel asked her three damn times if she stowed his precious cargo, much to her chagrin. 

Secretly she loves how much he loves the stuff. Anything that snags Joel Miller’s favorable attention is to be given the utmost respect and honor. Even cans of peaches. Especially cans of peaches. 

“You ready, Shimmer?” The horse neighs and clocks a hoof onto the cement – even she’s eager to get going. 

Ellie feels a sting of guilt over how dreadfully inadequate Shimmer’s morning meal was. It was a mix of whatever they could manage, really – which wasn’t anywhere in range of the horse’s typical morning rations – but it should be enough to suffice. The ride to Jackson shouldn’t last more than three hours and the blizzard’s died down quite a bit in the night. 

Joel tightens his hold on the reins and, “I hope the storm stays this weak, just like now. Until we get home.” 

“Well, yeah but the tree lighting ceremony is tonight. I don’t wanna miss it on account of the same snowpocalypse that keeps circling back like a soapy bag of dicks.” 

“Interestin’ visual. No bags of dicks, got it.”

††††

The ride to Jackson is much calmer than yesterday.

They pass Balboa’s frozen corpse and the half dozen Infected that Joel bested. Ellie squeezes his waist a measure more then, but neither vocalize the searing pangs of despair that come with such a sight. Horse or not, the life of a reliable friend was taken and that emotional attachment is what separates the living from those parasitic abominations. 

A thought comes to the girl then and she leverages her height and gets close to an ear, “Hey, what was that one round you fired off? Before Balboa, I mean. I heard a gunshot from your position up ahead.” 

“Oh, I uh, was lettin’ you know where I was.” He wipes a gloved hand to his face and waits for what he knows is bound to come. 

“But...wouldn’t that-That–that’s why they came out of the woods and attacked you and Boa. Damn, Joel. You gave away your position?” 

He shrugs in nonchalance but she knows the grief he’s still undoubtedly experiencing for the loss of his steed. “C’mon. You know you’re more important.” 

She lays a cheek to his backpack, slips her hands into his pockets and listens to the quiet of the world all around them. 

They travel the rest of the journey in this thoughtful sort of silence, happy to be safe, happy to be going home together.

††††

“Jesus Christ, Joel. We were worried outta our minds. Couldn’t rustle up a search party or go nowhere ‘cause’a that god awful snow. What happened? Where’s Balboa?”

Tommy and Maria are there in the stables, waiting as Joel and Ellie dismount and detach all their gear and extras in their practiced, habitual pattern. 

“One minute. Hey Sunny! Shimmer needs a whole lot of TLC today. And slip her an additional treat or two, yeah? She kicked all the ass yesterday and had barely enough food to keep her from killing and making meals of us two.” 

Sunny, a spritely sixteen year old from Washington state who takes initiative better than anyone that age should, bobs their head eagerly and smiles wide. 

“Sure thing, Ellie. On it!” 

Joel pulls the straps on his shoulders, slings his rifle and his shotgun and reaches for the rucksack. 

“We got run down by a horde. Made it to Baldwin an’ holed up. Found this there. We need to go through it an’ see who’s within pokin’ distance that might be usin’ somethin’ this high quality.”

Joel pushes the pack into Tommy’s chest and stares there a moment. His eyes are hard and set – there’s no squaring off between these brothers, not yet anyway. 

Tommy sniffs and clicks his tongue, “Glad y’all are alright. We’ll take this in, sort through it an’ let you know what we find.” 

Joel nods and drops into that impenetrable silence he’s so famous for as he waits for Ellie to join him. 

Maria leans against a wood post as she studies the tension between these siblings – and her and Joel, too – but doesn’t want this to continue on for fear of it festering. 

“Will you both be at the ceremony in a few hours or do you need to rest up?” 

Ellie takes in a terse pull of air and then, “Mmhm. We’ll be there. Gotta decorate the house still for that contest that’s...on next Wednesday, right?” 

Maria brightens at that and uncrosses her arms, “Yep. If you need help with anything, I...actually can’t help, never mind. Bias and all that. Oops.” Her arms go up in an animated goofy sort of way, but most of her family remain less than enthusiastic about it. 

Case in point: Tommy laughs but he’s the only one. Ellie _wants_ to laugh but can’t muster energy enough to do so. Be it out of exhaustion or general malaise. Joel just wants to leave. 

So he does. And Ellie follows. 

Once they make the short trek home – after running into a fervent-Dina and a relieved-Jesse – Ellie and Joel find themselves on a split pathway. It shouldn't feel like a massive ordeal, shouldn’t feel like anything at all, and yet it does. Like they’re abandoning this privacy bubble they’ve been sharing over the last day or so. It wasn’t all pleasant but it was just...them.

Like how it was before arriving in Wyoming, although the dynamic is starkly different now. 

“So, I’ll see ya in a few hours for the thing in town?” 

“The Christmas tree lighting, Joel. It’s a Tree Lighting. Get into the spirit or I’ll steal all your peaches.” 

He chuckles, “I’d like to see you try that, girl.” 

“One day. Just you wait. But yeah, I’ll come around four and we’ll go? I gotta shower and get out of these stiff clothes. The fireplace dried them but they stink like your filthy socks.” 

“Funny. Sounds like a plan. See ya then.”

††††

It’s four fifteen pm, the sky as dark as if it were midnight and all of Jackson is huddling in the town square. There’s a wholesome buzz that’s radiating throughout the townsfolk; they’re shoulder to shoulder to one another, combating the wind and keeping warm amidst the light snowfall that’s kicking up again. Everyone is eager and the mood is electric as they surround a twenty-eight foot spruce that rises above them; it’s tall, full and waiting to be switched on for the holiday season.

Maria poses beside the grandiosity of the beautiful perennial and waves to her people, “Hello Jackson! It’s good to see everyone here despite the dang cold! I know we could all use a bit of cheer, too, and so when I say our team worked really hard and went above and beyond their normal call of duty this year, phew, just you wait and see. Special shout to the gardening gang and the daycare center – your little kiddos crafted some beautiful ornaments that are surely to become traditional baubles going forward! But I won’t stammer on anymore...for now. Let’s light her up, shall we?” 

A swell of joyful exhalations fill the air as Maria rallies her charge. She knows they need this after the Mandate, knows _she_ needs this after that terse meeting and the flash fight between her brother in law and her husband. Everyone needs more Christmas tidings than normal, or at least, that’s what she keeps telling herself to boot and rally the vitality of this place. 

The hush that descends upon everyone as they wait expectantly, almost reverently, is paramount. Joel and Ellie are situating together near the front, him at her rear with a hand laying atop her shoulder to keep close in the thicket of bodies all around them. 

She’s bouncing on her heels and giddy – he’s long known how much this woman loves all things Christmas but it still delights him to watch her affection unfold in real time. 

And then it happens. 

A sizable red button is depressed and the spruce explodes into a kaleidoscope of color with glittery, shiny trinkets hung from top to trunk. There is no branch left open, no gap left unfilled and all the faces that are looking on reflect the wonderment of just how gorgeously simple decorating a tree can be. 

Joel directs his gaze south at Ellie and catches the shimmer of a thousand colors on the surface of her jade eyes. He feels his chest tighten and his heart start to race, feels an inclination to lean in and press his lips to hers. He won’t, he can’t. Not here, not now, maybe not ever again. That last pains him in a way he doesn’t want to bear witness to, so much in fact that he pointedly refuses to acknowledge that he’s thought of it twice now.

What he says to her and what he whispers to himself are two variables with the same name. His. To lose her would be to lose himself. But to lose her after knowing...what he knows now feels like a fate worse than death. 

She bumps her rear end into him and, “It’s so beautiful, Joel!” 

He smiles and steals himself before returning his line of sight towards the tree, towards Maria and her microphone. But his attention is divisively split and his heart is secretly elsewhere. Sure, the tree _is_ pretty but it’s nothing in comparison to the girl pressing against his chest and smiling up at him as though he were the object of her adoration. 

He can’t keep his hazels from her for too long though. Or his sentiments to himself, apparently. 

“That she is.” 

Ellie’s lips part as she marks the double meaning to his words and he knows what’s about to happen. Knows he should pull away but she’s getting closer and closer still. He needs to stop this, no one can see, no one’s to know. There’s too much at stake. 

“Hey Ellie!”

Just then Liam arrives, squeezing through the mass and popping up in front of the pair like an intrusive and noisy Jack In the Box. 

“Liam, hey!” Ellie reaches for her friend and hugs the young man warmly, not realizing Joel’s hand has fallen from her or that she’s left him in a state of whiplash and want. 

“Oh hey, Mr Miller. Tree is pretty awesome, right?” 

Joel grins but it’s of the forceful sort and not at all the reception this guy deserves. Joel doesn’t give a shit. 

“Hey, so after this whole tree thing is done, me, Max, Jesse and Dina are heading to the Bison for a few rounds. Wanna join?” 

The invitation extends to Ellie and Ellie only, Joel knows as much, expects as much. The older man dips out of their conversation respectfully as he aimlessly looks through the crowd; he spots Tommy and Rhoda off towards the west end and they’re laughing about God only knows what; he suddenly realizes he wants to be home, or heading home at the least. With her. 

“Yeah, um, that sounds cool. You going there now?” 

Liam shrugs and uses his jaw to angle towards the spruce, “Nah, not yet. Wanna get closer? I’d like to peep all those ornaments and I brought a camera with me this year. To commemorate or whatever.” 

“Oh...yeah, give me a minute? I’ll meet you front and center.” The girl smiles but it doesn’t fully reach her eyes. 

Liam returns with his own dose of happy greetings, then waves at Joel and slips away. 

“Hey, do you mind if I…?” Ellie leaves her statement open-ended – she doesn’t have to say much more than that for him to see plainly what it is she’s intending on.

“You don’t need to be askin’ me, Red. Go, have fun with your friends.” 

“What’re you gonna do?” 

“I’ll figure somethin’ out. Now get.” Joel purses his lips and pushes his chin outward, bumps her lightly with an elbow to show that he means it. To get her going before he says something untoward or wildly out of tune. 

The girl lingers there a minute before she bumps him back and twirls on her boot heels. She’s soaring off and through the collective and very much out of sight already. 

Joel stands there, alone, left behind and wondering selfishly if she’ll be coming home tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a few notes to kick this off:
> 
> • I'm a day late but appreciate those who've been eagerly messaging me! This is quite a bit longer than my other installments, so here's hoping it's good enough to satiate that evil cliffhanger I left you with in 6.  
> • Franklin Barbecue is a real place in Austin, TX! I did a bit of homework here, as I live on the eastern side of the States, but FB was established in 2009 and has, apparently, won many awards for their kickass BBQ and custom pits they make (that are not inexpensive, as Joel mentions). When the world isn't on fire, I'll make plans to go there and report back – BUT if you're reading this and you have been there, let me know all the things (including whether or not the 5 stars ratings are deserved!).  
> • That Santa sweater is a nod to the lovely CallMeSnake – I had to incorporate that jolly bastard at some point and couldn't resist. That's not to say that he won't pop up again when the holiday celebrations really begin though. ;)  
> • I hope the flow of this works – it's heavy on prose where I felt it needed to be and light when it came time to conversations these two desperately needed to start. Either way, we're working towards big decisions and this pair is going learn more and more about each other while not understanding a single damn thing inside themselves. Yet.  
> • We gotta find a way to get Ellie some Hershey's Kisses, don't we? 
> 
> Lastly and most importantly, THANK YOU. My stars, my heart, my happily overworked oven (from baking ALL the sweet treats for y'all). I am beside myself each and every week. Thank you, truly. I hope this continues to earn your time and energy in all the best, albeit angsty, ways. 
> 
> & That's chapter 7! Check back next week (or smash that subscribe button to be notified!) to find out whether or not Ellie goes to Joel's after the bar, what's Liam's deal and the sort of decorations and shenanigans they'll be up to then. xx


	8. & Permanent Currents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellie has a night out with her friends and drinks just enough to enjoy herself. Joel is home and handling a few things he's been putting off the last week or so. Then there's post-Tipsy Bison hangs, an awkward exchange and a little bit of the truth coming through, finally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHH! Finally. Able. To. Post! Damn if this week wasn't a WEEK. I'm in the USA so with the election and the craziness that ensued, I was far too distracted to dedicate the proper amount of time to this fic – I try to always give it my very best and until that race was called on Saturday, I couldn't pull through. So I'm sorry for the lateness! 
> 
> That said, like always, I will save more of my notes for AFTER the chapter! But...there have been updated tags. x

“Hey, listen. Are you listening?”

The girl pitches forward but quickly recovers by the sturdy support of Dina’s shoulders; she grips and hangs onto her friend for a beat, balancing a pair of wobbly sea legs before circling back to a collection of disgruntled sentiments that sit like poison on her tongue. 

“Okay so lissten…I’m–I dunno about you but if Mmaria Miller expects me to be changing shitty diapers, she better be doing the same a year from now, too. Or t-trekking the dusty Clicker roads with bells and whistles on. Wait, no, that’d be unsafe. Whatever, all I’m saying is what the shit, ya know? It’s…excuse me? No fucking way.” She slaps a palm to the lacquered bartop and sucks her lips with an attitude that only reveals itself when she’s with some of her favorite people. And firing on all whiskey cylinders. 

After, a shade of deep sage shines glassy as she observes the smoky room and feels the world tilting just-so; the decent amount of amber liquor has stolen some of her basic motor skills but after a week of torment and stress, she’s more than welcome to the carelessness that it’s bringing. 

The drink of choice tonight, and all nights, is a cheap, bottom-shelf booze – but it’s plentiful, reliable and stronger than the high noon sun on an August day. But she doesn’t mind one way or the other; the liquor is doing its job of distracting her – and everyone else in the Bison – and at the end of the day, that’s the only concern. 

As a running gag between her, Dina, Jesse, Max, and Liam, there’s the argument that the waning lack of control over their faculties is a result of the wintry slush being dragged into the bar – and _not_ any alcohol consumption, of course. Or so they like to tout as such. So whoever is first to utter the night’s drunken decoy word _must_ buy a round for all five of them. Those are the rules. 

Ellie comes close to saying the rally cry, the word that would cost her – SLUSH! – but she won’t. Not tonight. Her mind is too mobbed of Mandate and Joel and Babies and Nightmares to add debt to the collective experience. 

She realizes then that her friend has yet to say anything, so she prompts the girl with the nudge and reiterates, “Right??” 

Dina’s browns flash wide as she animatedly agrees and continues to slurp from the fresh whiskey Jesse has given to her, “Oh sorry. No, I’m with you. I mean, what kinda bullshit is that? Hey there healthy women of Jackson, Wyoming, have a baby or die! The fuck.” 

Ellie’s dulling emeralds loop so far into the rear of her skull that she can no longer discern anything beyond the realm of frustration and complaint. It’s where all these ill words about a woman she cares for and a man she can’t get out of her mind now reside – an endless prose that’s bubbling on the horizon of her indifference, priming to pour themselves out like an overflowing spillway. 

A river to wash away all the rest. Or at least she expects as much given the nature of these permanent currents. 

The girl’s aware she shouldn’t broach this topic with anyone until she’s set time enough aside for a proper sojourn into the past few days. But under the spell of whiskey and warmth, those bulbous hazard signs are far less clear to distinguish on this road to perdition. 

“What’s Jesse think of this fucking Mandate mess? You...you two seem to be cozy again...” It’s a prying non-question-question and Ellie knows it, despite her imperfect acuity at present; Dina knows this to be the case as well, but neither makes any fuss over the matter. It’s not the time. The bar is too loud, the drinks are too good and the girls are far from offering any additional ammunition to the bigot bartender that’s on duty. 

A curtain of dark hair falls to the wayside of Dina’s face, hiding half of her from the crowd as she focuses solely on Ellie. “He’s not...thrilled, I guess. But he’s not said much about it either. I don’t know. We have a little bit of time before the forums start en masse next month and I think until then we’re just gonna...visit the Bison and drink ourselves silly after shifts. Until we run out of options will I then, and only then, have a better answer for you. And for myself, too.” 

“And uh...you and Jesse?” She puts the tumbler to her mouth and sips slowly, allowing the amber liquid to coat her insides with a heat she’s desperately chasing. There’s a chill brewing within her, an ice seeping into her veins that’s unfamiliar; it’s an ominous murmur that’s convoluting the very darkest recesses of her psyche. She wants to frighten that cold shadow, to expel the slippery entity that tastes like false truths and deception. 

_Her_ false truths and deception this time. 

Ellie’s wise to the origins of this demon she’s permitted inside, recognizes how new and foreign it is, despite her hidden willingness as its host. 

Thankfully, the drink helps her forget the self-preservation practices she’s put into motion – to placate and push away these falsehoods and pretend. Pretend that she’s not the one lying now, not the one misleading and hiding the true nature of those silent desires that are growing inside of her. She surmises why she’s done what she’s done and yet, with the alcohol coursing through her blood one pump at a time, Ellie just wants to lay it down for the night. Just for tonight. 

Or ever, maybe. Possibly. 

But that’s not how these things tend to go. 

Still, the whiskey is also lending itself useful in other ways, too; there’s a finer tip to the edge of her tongue and Ellie appreciates this byproduct now more than she ever has before. 

But in this conversation, she’s not entirely certain as to why she’s pushing for an update on Jesse and Dina’s relationship. So much brilliance has come to light in the last thirty-six or so hours that this situation with her friends should, by all intents and purposes, hold less of an influence. That _he_ should be the one on her mind and not the flippant kiss with one of her best friends. And he is...and yet. 

Dina pauses and steals a beat before, “We...I don’t know. I was so damn worried after you didn’t report in yesterday and then I bumped into Jesse right as he was about to search for you and Joel. Before the search was called off, I mean. I was in the stables and, we just...I guess it’s over and it’s not all the way over? Still, I _have_ wanted to spend time with you this week but you’ve been busy with everything and with the new schedule changes all of a sudden and this never-ending blizzard... It’s easy to fall into our comfort zones when shit sorta hits the fan, ya know?” Dina shoots the last finger of her libation as she absentmindedly chews on a bottom lip that’s partially numb. She’s unclear of what else there is to say or if what she said was enough...maybe it was too much? 

Ellie scratches at her jawline and swallows a revelatory response before leading on with just enough. For now. 

“No, I-I get it. After the past few days, I definitely understand the whole ‘falling into our comfort zones’ thing. But I’m sorry to have worried you, honestly. It’s...yeah, it’s been a week for me, too.” 

Dina turns and tries to position herself closer by leaning in towards the girl; she’s right on the cusp of asking what may be squeezing between all those lines Ellie’s choosing not to say. Or what those unspoken words might imply insofar as...whatever it is that may or may not be happening between them. Or happened between them. She’s a little hazy on the details now herself.

“Ell–” 

“Hey, ladies.” Just then however, Jesse bounds into the conversation as though his name were ringing like a siren on the boozy bar-winds. 

He’s there, standing behind Dina and all but wrapping an arm to her waist as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Perhaps it is. 

Ellie doesn’t want to look at this familiar exchange but can’t manage to force herself from staring at it either. There’s a longing for that intimate normalcy, a longing for simplicity – to be able to embrace the one you want for all to see. 

She doesn’t want to examine the implications of taking this trail, doesn’t want to consider what a world would be like if she could be lucky enough to have that. With someone. With...him. 

There’s a great and gruesome exhale as she wades through these cascading waters; everything is happening so fast this week – from the Winter Dance incident to the nightmare and night after night wrapped in Joel’s arms. Then the Mandate announcement and her and Joel’s...kiss, or rather, their foreplay, she deduces. The girl is too inexperienced as to what is what when it comes to sexy...stuff. There’s not been many encounters for her to pull from – none, actually – so she’s hesitant to read that moment for what it might very well have been. 

...And then there was that almost kiss-not kiss by the lights of the Christmas tree. Joel’s hazels shone with a conveyance that was full and bare for her to see – a torn but wonderful expression all the same. She wants to know more about that, wants to see it again and again for the remainder of her days on this stunted earth. 

_’Fuck. Dina and now Joel...fuck.’_

Yes, it’s certainly been A Week. 

Ellie turns away – from the not-a-pair-pairing and tries to drown out the rising noise of this place; tries to ignore how her insides ache at the mere contemplation of those intimate moments spent with Joel. Of how she wants...more of those. 

Anger will detract. Anger always works. 

The girl pierces Seth with a jade lance then, reorienting herself with the fury she’s harboring in regards to that nasty, embarrassing scene he caused. Fury that’s yet to ebb. 

The cowardly bar-man dodges her resentful glance by working on a duo of whiskey neats; Ellie grimaces as she’s waiting, her thoughts coasting to a shallower end where booming hair band music from a century she never knew rings loud and true. She hums a few of the unforgettable lyrics to the iconic anthem that is, _Love In An Elevator_ while distractedly peering around the room. 

Max, Liam and Cedric are laughing boisterously by a community table with a meager spread of finger-foods; everyone knows portions aren't a commodity to waste on drunken bellies and the town’s businesses, fortunately and unfortunately, vehemently agree with this ideology. Regardless, with the tree lighting only a few hours ago, there’s bound to be exceptions made to even the strictest of rules. And since Jackson tends to believe that any cause for celebration is as good a cause as there ever will be, the rules are thus bent. 

It’s these types of community events that make this place what it’s become, and though a selection of food can run scarce, especially this time of year, no one abuses these rare treats. 

Ellie muses on what the appetizers might be but doesn’t care enough to meander and find out. She’s here for the ample supply of liquids over a tray of tiny hotdogs (in blankets?) any day. She does, however, wonder idly what the guys are chatting about and whether or not she should abandon her post and go socialize with them. She would love a few laughs now more than anything, especially after interacting with the town homophobe and an all-around miserable human being. A vile toofer if ever there was one. 

There’s a momentary swell of stale silence as the jukebox switches from Aerosmith to Bon Jovi – it’s a 1980’s night, apparently – and in that empty space, Ellie’s thoughts roam once more into the fray. To Joel. But not of the hours they spent at the Baldwin Mansion together. 

No, this time she’s gone off on a different sort of wonderment — recalling what she had seen as the man was leaving earlier tonight. The girl, inebriated and mentally elsewhere now, doesn’t pause the spiral of thoughts that come from tapping into this fresh memory. 

Instead, she takes a microscope to it as she tries to dismantle the mystery of his demeanor. 

When he left, Joel’s posture had been a precise sort of lumbering, as if it were heavy and fast all in tandem. She saw him pass Tommy in the direction of his house, his jaw firmly set with both hands dug low into the pockets of his girthy winter coat. She thought it curious; not how his brother tried feebly to speak with him, despite knowing fully well how Joel wears agitation like a shield. No, Ellie knew that the older sibling wouldn’t dare entertain the thought of pleasantries just yet. 

What is curious to her _now_ was Joel’s pacing and rigid physicality; there was something spindling into the tension of his gait, something Ellie noticed at the time but didn’t lend any additional mind to. 

Not until this very moment was she able to see it for what it was.

A distinct air of urgency. 

His shoulders were riding abnormally low as he stalked onward, farther and farther from the collective cheer and tidings in Jackson’s square. Ellie could almost glimpse the sparks of crackling light as his determination and anger simmered like a severed power line – his storm was on the inside but his charge shone like a fiery warning amidst the colorful bulbs of Christmas decorations. 

All this musing is, of course, revealing the visible, almost dire _need_ he had to get gone, to get away from there, from everyone. Joel could act like that sometimes. Still, this felt different to her. 

Something stirs in her as she replays his exodus, something that sings of desperation and...a moreness he would be reticent to acknowledge. She knows him well enough to realize that. But in all of this, Ellie can’t resist tugging on a very specific thread that’s dangling ahead of her vision: the girl’s interest is officially piqued as to whether or not her friends contributed to that wiry traction of his – traction that’s being replayed so vividly in retrospect. 

But here, now, in the Tipsy Bison, the girl doesn’t pretend to know the reasoning or the cause for his vehement footfall, only that the scene is tickling the corners of her ruminations. That it’s widening the margin between the risks she’s willing to take and the chances she’s not ready to let go of. 

She mentally, and thus quietly, dances alongside such reflections, persistent in these thoughts of him that are so very telling as a part of her begins to play with an idea. That maybe, just maybe, he’s far more needful than he lets on and utterly jeal–

“Helloooo, Wyoming to Ellie…” 

Ellie snaps from her reverie to Liam waving directly before her spacey-greens. 

“You gonna grab those whiskey’s or are you waiting for Seth to drink them for you? Because ya know he will.” 

The girl laughs and purses her lips, “I’d thought of it, only so I could coin him a thief and skip out on next week’s ration drop-off.” 

Ellie throws a hard look at the bartender as she finishes this rhetoric, proceeds to retrieve hers and Dina’s tumblers and excitedly faces her circle of friends. She can’t recall when they each found themselves so near and instantly wants to berate herself for the unintentional lapse into a daydream. Of Joel. 

_’If they only knew… Oh, fuck. What if they find out? What would they think?’_

She brandishes an iron sword and immediately expels those thoughts beyond this realm and into a slideways – into an otherworld she’s not yet ready to journey through. Or leave. She’s woefully indecisive. 

She coughs to clear her head, not her lungs and, “Here ya go. You’re buying the next round. I’m too damn good to you.” Ellie places the drink into Dina’s palm and grins, holds it a moment before feeling a series of tap-taps onto her elbow. It’s Liam. Again. 

“So, what the hell happened yesterday? You never came back and then all of a sudden you’re here with Joel for the tree lighting. Everyone was pretty freaked. About you two not returning, I mean.” He leans in, firms his grip on his beer bottle and tries to listen above the amplifying din of the atmosphere surrounding. 

“Oh, yeah. We were chased by a horde. Hunkered down at the Baldwin place for the night after roasting a couple dozen of those clicky fucks. Wasn’t a bad night after that bullshit, all things considered.” 

At the last, an abyssal sense of dread slithers into the hollow base of her spine; it rises up, filling her one vertebrae at a time until it spreads out and out and out. It snakes along the curves of her rib cage as it crushes inward, this inky, viscus cold infecting and carving trenches into her – tainting her marrow one molecule at a time. 

There’s a ghoulish breath that passes by the cartilage of her ears, a sickly-sweet scent that tells her none of this is real, that she’s still asleep, that Joel’s dead and nothing of the last week has ever come to be. 

Ellie shivers and steals herself as she quietly disentangles herself from the tendrils of that horrid wraith. The one she came face to face with in the basement of the lodge. All snarling, gnashing teeth and growling fervor. 

The girl’s vision snaps when the Tipsy’s front entrance slams shut – she exhales and pauses the world around her for a moment, calming as best she’s able amidst this swell of adrenaline and turmoil that’s surging inside. 

_’The goddamn door opened. That’s why it got so cold. That’s all it was. Nothing else. Get your shit together, Ellie.’_

Liam, noting a quick splash of fright and...something else filtering across the girl’s features, lands himself at a personal crossroads, “Ellie? Are you alright? Di-did something happen while you were there? With Joel?” 

She returns from the grip of her hellish repose to a pair of slate-blues full of kindness and concern waiting there. To reply, to share, to offer more than she’s willing. Not that he knows that.

Odd that he would name Joel specifically though… 

“What? Nno, no. We jus-st cleared the place, had some dinner and turned in for the night. I’ve not been sleeping great this week so I keep s-spacing out like a fucking wierdo. Sorry about that.” She hiccups and emits a bubbly, snorty laugh as her eyes focus on anything but the way he’s looking at her right now.

She likes it, she doesn't like it.  
She wishes it was Joel, or even Dina but not Liam.  
Or...maybe Liam?  
Because this feels kind of nice, too. 

He tilts his head as he leans in closer, “Anything I can do to help?” 

Ellie puts a few inches between them as she looks north, caught off guard by his suggestive, albeit wholesome, tone, “Liam Brooks, are you hitting on me?” 

He taps the base of his beer to the rim of her glass in response, his demeanor changing to suit the mood that’s being set, “And if I am?”

“I–I uh...”

“Ellie! Get out here and dance with me, ya pain in the ass!” Dina is standing at the end of the bar and moving her body this way and that in the limited space available to her. There’s not an actual dance floor in the Bison but folks tend to gravitate towards one corner in particular and claim it for their own. Dina’s the one to do that here tonight, apparently. 

“Hold that thought?” The girl bites her lip and saunters off, splashing a few drops of alcohol as she treks the short distance to her lively friend. 

“Thought you could use some saving. Not sure you’re into him that way?” Dina winks and wraps an arm around Ellie’s lithe waist. Jesse is nearby, drinking and talking of fishing techniques with Max, and Liam, who’s just joined them for another round of a locals home-brew. 

“I...I mean he’s never s-shown any interest in me that way before, has he? Not so...ya know, up in my personal bubble about, at least.” Ellie shrugs and steps in time to a song by Duran Duran, a tune she knows well but can’t seem to place the name of for the life of her. Likely the whiskey. Either way, she enjoys it and doesn’t care for the inconsequential fade of memory. 

“So...d-do you?” Dina quips, finishing her beverage and haphazardly pushing the empty glass onto the bartop. The dark-haired girl wraps her other limb around Ellie’s middle and moves in a mirroring pattern. 

“Do I...Do I what?” 

“Do you _like_ him…?” 

Ellie borrows a few seconds by bouncing in a noncommittal show of acknowledgement; she lets the music pour into their silent space, let’s the warmth of the establishment and the start of the holiday season bleed into the very air that surrounds them. 

No more nightmares, no more death. No more bad things. Not here, not ever.

_’Do I like him?’_

She thinks of Joel and sways to the rhythm of this new song – a love song. She wonders what the older man is busy with, if he’s awake and drinking, too, or maybe he’s carving or watching a dumb eighties movie she definitely doesn’t ever want to watch. She remembers his lips on hers, how he tastes and the sounds he emitted when her hands pulled, played and burrowed into his thick, long hair. Thinks of his hard chest and all that dark and gray hair and the muscle that lays beneath and–

“Yes. I do.” 

Dina’s smile goes sideways as she angles to gain a better view of Liam, the focal point of this exchange. She’s not envious of Ellie’s affections, per se, but not _not_ a little jealous, either. Still, she understands why; Liam is tall and lean, with beautiful eyes of ice and a bright smile that’s a staple to his general disposition. People in town consider him one of the good guys – so much that most folks flock to Liam’s shifts at the Bison, more than anyone else. His cooking is delicious, his antics are often lighthearted, and he’s always carefree and genuinely warm to anyone he interacts with. 

He’s an embodiment of what this town and all its residents seek after years of surviving the unsurvivable. Kindness, regard, respect. 

“Well, good. He’s pretty easy on those greens of yours, too, huh?” 

Out of her fantasy, Ellie tracks from Dina to Liam and she knows this bout of daydreaming will likely nip her in the bud; her answer wasn’t about _that_ man, the one nearby, but instead, another. But her girlfriend doesn’t know that. Won’t know that. Can’t know that. Maybe, possibly not. Ellie’s unsure as to what protocol is in such uncharted waters. 

“Oh, yeah, uh, Liam. He i-is, I guess.” 

Dina’s browline furrows, the muscles of her face pinching in as she watches Ellie scramble. The girl’s eyes are everywhere but on her, with a physical presence that’s both discombobulated and jerky. A reaction that speaks to...hidden truths. 

“Wait...are–we are talking about the same person here, right? Liam? As...as in that L-Liam Brooks?” Dina gestures with a smooth lean in the direction of the counter but doesn’t break contact for fear of Ellie taking off. Ellie’s not a runner but with the drink flooding her senses and her system – and the last day or so having wrecked a certain level of havoc – Dina can’t be too careful. 

“Oh no, yeah. I like him, I do. Ssorry. Just getting a little tired of all the noise in this place.” 

Dina doesn’t believe her, not entirely anyway, but stows her curiosities for a later time. A time when whiskey and Wham aren’t competing for her utmost and they can have an actual conversation with one another again. 

“Wanna get out of this place? Go to your garage and chill? I think Max has some weed.” 

Ellie sniffs and wipes the rear of her hand to her lips, “Definitely. I have more booze there, too.” 

“Sweet. Let’s get those drunk boys and get the fuck outta dodge.” 

As they’re exiting the Tipsy Bison, Ellie catches sight of Beth Fleurs interacting with another blond woman by the roaring jukebox. Beth is laughing obnoxiously, emitting a high-pitched piercing sort of noise that tells Ellie and all the rest of Jackson just how much she’s been drinking tonight. Fortunately, everyone’s become quite adept at tuning the woman out when she’s reached this shrill of a peak, for the most part. 

To Ellie however, there’s something not quite right about this seemingly innocuous scene. But the source of this unease isn’t Beth this time – lucky for Fleurs, given the mood she’s falling into the longer she contemplates these two women. No, it’s the friend, or acquaintance, that the annoying woman is standing with that draws Ellie’s attention. There’s something familiar about the younger girl that’s engaging so warmly with Beth – something familiar but different all the same. Something she can’t place. 

She steals one last glance before Dina pushes her through the doorway and out into the wintry cold of Jackson. Her skin tingles as the frigid air and...something else needles at her.

††††

Joel is leaning against the cushion of his worn leather chair as he comes down from the summit of his release. He’s trembling just enough that he feels partially silly as a result, but after a week of stifling this basic need, and given how hard he just came, the tremors aren’t all that shocking. It’s the kind of orgasm he hasn’t experienced in more years than he cares to admit. Not routine or boring, but explosive and...excessive.

His cock is still in his right hand but going soft while his come lays in a pool on his bare belly; Joel lets his head rest atop his comfortable seat and exhales with a great sigh of relief. He tries to steady the fervor of his racing heart and the aftermath that’s slowly starting to ebb but tiny sparks of lightning continue to surge within. The intensity of this surprises him, and yet doesn’t all the same. 

After a few minutes, he looks south on his body and grumbles; he doesn’t normally like to shoot on himself but tonight was a rush of needful, hasty arousal and he was barely able to lift his shirts in time for the mess he made. 

“Fuckin’ hell.” 

He clears his throat, removes his hand from the tacky center of himself and sighs again; there’s a slight chill emanating from the thick, ample liquid that’s waiting on him, impatiently calling on its owner to tidy up already. But it feels as though his legs are lost to him now, that all the muscles, tendons and bones have disappeared entirely. Mobility a distant memory.

 _’But memories of her aren’t. Of that perfect little ass bouncin’ up an’ down on me… of her whimpering my name on those fucked-red lips…’_

Joel scratches his beard in exasperation and pushes the fantasy of the girl – _his_ girl – away, away, away. He doesn’t want to feel remorse for the salacious images he was using to get over an edge he was already tumbling down. Doesn’t want to regret how sexy and willing and...in lov–how intense the imaginations of her were. Doesn't want to revel in the idea of her craving him with the same tenacity, knowing what it is he wants to give and do to her now. 

“Don’t deserve her, not like that, you ol’ fuck.” 

This inner musing hammers him into the ground like the crushing weight of a waterfall, its icy curtains of wet doing their best to douse the last remnants of his sexual desires. It’s a harsh reality of rational musings that’s all around again; sure, she kissed him and by all appearances had sought more, what with those wandering hands that got so far as unfastening his belt part way. Not to mention her pretty mouth that pleaded with his through every bite, nibble and moan. 

But this was all the result of her thinking he was about to die a horrific death and she, panicking and rendered utterly powerless to cease the inevitable event – just as she’s been in that godforsaken nightmare. He took advantage of the situation and now he’s gone and used her fervent lust as lubricant for tonight’s handjob. 

He scowls at himself, clicks his tongue and peers around the bedroom for anything to employ as a temporary cleaning measure. He’ll shower soon as he’s done, soon as his limbs remember to do whatever it is they’re meant to be doing. Walking, he thinks. Yeah, that sounds right. 

Finding nothing suitable to the task, Joel slips his flannel button-up and the thermal long sleeve off one at a time. He tosses the beige undershirt onto his mattress and uses the other to wipe his belly as dry as he’s able. He notes the volume of it and shakes his head – it’s a...lot. Far more than his average and he knows it’s not just because of how long he’s gone without jerking himself off. 

Tonight Joel was...excitable and turned on to a level he doesn’t remember feeling in such a lengthy amount of time. If ever. 

All because of that girl. That beautiful, green-eyed, auburn-haired, funny, loving girl. 

“Ellie.” 

Her name comes as a prayer on his tongue, a whisper of what the world could be, of what he might have been able to share, if only circumstances were vastly different. If he wasn’t fifty-two years old and hadn’t broken her foundations two years prior. If he hadn’t lost his only child twenty-five years ago and vowed never to become a father again. 

That last and crucial promise taints his emotions far more than the rest now. He sinks into himself as thoughts of the Mandate surface in its vacancy; these town changes have the potential to upend and deconstruct the final barriers to his immutably shattering heart...or to, in a very literal sense, end him. Either way, Joel is playing at a loss. 

He could lose his life on the road or lose his girl to some young punk with a willingness and a want to start a family with her. He could lose her in that same literal sense, too. Out in the surrounding states looking for new Jackson citizens and ancient supplies...or by her immunity and what that could result with. That being if she ever chooses to change her mind and bring a son or daughter into this world. 

Ellie as a mama. He knows her babies would be beautiful, but not his. Joel swallows what he can only guess is a newfound remorse; there’s just no way she would ever consider him. 

“An’ she damn well shouldn’t. You’re fuckin’ thirty-three years her senior.”

The man throws his spent clothing onto the floor in frustration and rises in earnest. He’s annoying himself, his head overflowing with one too many contrasting ideas faster than the next. He needs a shower and a distraction until she either sneaks into his bed or he sleeps alone. For the first time since last week. 

Once in the bathroom, he preps his bucket and a hose and gravity begins to do the rest. 

He doesn’t waste any time once he’s in the confines of his porcelain stall – doesn’t think or mull or muse. Just washes free of the day’s grime and the tangy, lingering scent of his come. Scrubs and laves it all away in the hopes to end the bitter feelings that are clinging to his skin like an allergen. 

He can’t be with her the way he wants, can’t entertain such thoughts of it anymore either. No matter how desperate and aching his balls may be on any given day. No matter if she asks to sleep beside him for the remainder of his nights. 

Joel won’t ruin her life by damning the girl with his. He just won’t do it. 

A rumbling, woeful sound gurgles from inside of him and he releases it into the quiet of the night. It’s an echo of finality, a choice he must keep resolutely firm to. Even if it tears him apart every single time he’s with her. Even if she’s wearing a dress and dancing the night away in the arms of another, all bare feet and flowing lace and pure happiness for the future. Even if her belly is swollen and made more beautiful by someone else’s seed. 

It’s for her own good. 

_’It’s for her own good.’_

After this self-aggrandizing mantra, he runs a towel and a wooden brush through his wet hair, cleans his teeth and gives himself a once over in the speckled mirror. His body has never been, for lack of a better expression, out of shape, but Joel takes care to keep accountable to this. His daily regimen of a healthy diet and exercise keeps him toned and fit, yes, but fast and ready for the horrors that lie in wait outside the protection of their walls, despite his age. 

He’s done here though, so he nods to the ghosts of a tomorrow he’ll never know, hangs his bath towel on its hook and walks around to his closet. He shivers a tick, the storage room is chilly and he’s fully naked, searching for his creature comforts. 

Spotting them, Joel forgoes boxers in favor of an oversized pair of sweats. He pairs that with a ratty, threadbare tee and fresh socks. He’ll be cozy for what he wants to do next. What he needs to do.

††††

With half a glass of bourbon nearby and Johnny Cash’s _Folsom Prison Blues_ coming from the small radio in the corner of his workshop, Joel’s finally curated a modicum of peace for the evening.

He’s carving what will be one of Ellie’s Christmas gifts and though the reference photo is detailed in color, scale and textures, he wants to be sure he gets this one right. He has a little more than two weeks before it needs to be done, painted and polished and that should be plenty enough, but he worries nonetheless. 

Gifts for her are always a point of agonizing effort and monumental happy returns for Joel. For Ellie’s birthdays – even the two he was kept apart from her – he sees them as a testament and a challenge to go above and beyond. To spoil her in all the grandiose ways that his poor lack of articulation won’t seem to allow otherwise. 

The first time he was able to give her something substantial was for her sixteenth celebration. That was a perfect getaway – seven days in total they spent on that trip; three days to get to the Wyoming Museum of Science and History, one day IN the museum itself – on her actual date of birth – and then three days to get back home to Jackson in one piece. 

After they left the magic of aeronautics and the fear of the boar behind, they made camp shortly thereafter. He sang the birthday song to her as she hummed and smiled the whole way through. Then he cooked, surprised her with a Hershey’s milk chocolate bar and settled in for the evening. 

When night had fallen and their campfire burned low, she listened to her cassette tape over and over again; Joel bore witness as the girl ascended, drifting to the glittery skies above with a heart brimming so visibly, he thought his might very well implode. She was so _happy_ , so full and content and outwardly loving towards him. The girl hugged him that night...actually wrapped her arms around his person and held so long he thought she had gone to sleep in his embrace. Turned out she was probably not – definitely not – hiding tears from him, because never would such a cataclysmic event happen from a badass like Ellie Williams. He made no comments, just held her through the rare release and hoped she knew how much she meant to him. It was all he ever wanted her to know.

Eventually that ended and the world burned to ashes all around him. Again.

After their relationship had been severed, her eighteenth and nineteenth birthdays were an antithesis to the wholesome warmth they once shared. Joel and Ellie went from walking amongst the great giants of the past in absolute wonder while rocketing to the constellations high above to...a totality of nothingness the likes he’d never encountered before. Every day after the revelation brought a new, hollow emptiness in ways Joel, to this very moment, cannot accurately describe still. 

Despite those two birthdays being blacked-out occasions, he still laid gifts on her doorstep first thing in the morning, along with a card, a chocolate bar and a scribbled note that her breakfast and lunch at the Bison were already taken care of for the day. 

Joel’s unsure whether or not she ever opened those presents and as he carves and shapes at his bench in the here and now, he chews on if he should ask of it when they’re in each other’s company next. Which will hopefully be in a few hours’ time. 

_’Knock that shit off. You should just go to sleep now. Alone.’_

As he works, he wishes he could completely disregard the darkness from those months and years apart, but it’s only been a week since the cutting silence and strain came to a close. And even that isn’t wholly truthful either; Joel knows there’s much yet for them to discuss and work through but so long as they continue in the heading she’s set, he’s more than happy to be along for the ride. Even if it’s...a much different sort of continuance than before. 

A wild opposite of what it was, if he’s in an analyzing mood. 

He feels himself stir as his cock hangs free in his pants and instantly shuts his hazels at the swell of such inappropriate notions; he can’t keep thinking of her that way, and berating himself almost incessantly about it all appears to have little to no effect on things. His body responds to the barest hint of having her and he’s beginning to hate what his mind is helplessly hoping for as a result. 

Joel needs to talk to her and make things clear once and for all. 

_’It’s for her own good.’_

In the silence before the song changes from Cash to the opening of Rogers’ _The Gambler_ , Joel hears a boom of voices echoing from his yard, by Ellie’s garage. He spins the knob on the old radio and listens a moment, making sure it’s nothing untoward or dangerous; regardless of the cozy, protective conditions in Jackson, he’s aware that it can end at a moment's notice and he’ll be damned to fall victim to such an amateurish turn of events. 

The tones aren't threatening or that of a predatory war-cry. Rather, they’re loud and boisterous, full of an energetic, devil-may-care attitude that’s beholden to the rash considerations of drunk folk. 

Ellie must be bringing her friends home with her. Interesting. 

He hangs there a spell and listens as best he’s able; since it’s the dead of winter and numbingly cold outside, his windows are latched, keeping him safe from the punishing winds of this cruel December. And yet, they’re making it easy for him; he can pick out their individual voices as though they were circling on all sides, talking around Joel as though he weren’t there at all. 

He wonders idly if it’s intentional, at least on Ellie’s part. But no, alcohol amplifies. He knows that. Knows that well. 

Joel sips his bourbon and clicks his tongue after; it’s been awhile since he’s drank himself silly. Perhaps a night of blissful abandon is in short order. 

“You’re a fucking asshole! Nno way Captain Daniela would have lost to Lt. Astra. Do you even understand the chain of command? Astra never would have tried it. Not ever. You suck. Shut up.” 

Joel smiles as Ellie defends her most beloved fictional character from a universe he hasn’t quite understood all these years, despite his attempts in past conversations. Comic books were a form of media consumption he was never able to get into, not even as a child in the eighties when they were expressly popular. Still, he knows he doesn’t need to understand it, just love how she loves it all – and passionately at that. 

“And _YOU_ suck and no I won’t shut up because Lt. Astra was passed over for a promotion a million years ago. Just because Captain Daniela made rank before Astra did don’t mean a damn thing. That was a shit move on Commands part and I’ll go down on that sword Ellie. I swear it.” 

Joel’s smile fades as he recognizes the responding voice. Liam. Again with that guy. Only this time he’s going tête-à-tête with Ellie in respect to one of her favorite pastimes. 

Joel grumbles and drops his flat knife. He blows on the tabletop and watches as a barrage of sawdust and wood shavings billow towards the other end of his work area. He makes a note to clean up, turn the music louder or go to bed. Maybe he should do all of those things at the same time, he just knows he doesn’t want to hear anymore of their inebriated rhetoric. Of their flirting. 

“Shut your face, Brooks. Daniela is the shit and you know it. Astra was just a jealousss old pain in the ass. That’s why she got skipped over. Couldn’t see beyond her own fuckery.” Ellie hiccups and laughs, pushing on one of Liam’s shoulders as she ushers him and the rest of her friends into the warm living space of her home. 

From his position, Joel’s not able to glimpse the physicality of that last bit; as soon as he realizes they’ve gone inside, he sits motionless in the quiet, lonely house and searches for an absolution. When that doesn’t arrive, he begins to feel a sickness grouping in the tar pit of his stomach – his insides are reeling from what should have been nothing but a harmless exchange, and yet. 

He knows that even if Liam were to lower her onto her couch by the small of her back, to press his mouth and his body to hers and love the girl the way lovers do, he would have no right to feel the way he does at current. 

Desperately, he redirects.

Knows that beyond the context of the comic being sadly lost on him, Joel can’t cease the wince as Ellie’s words on an ‘old pain in the ass’ take root; he doesn’t want to acknowledge it aloud, but from this bout of unintentional eavesdropping, he believes to be more Astra and less Daniela in the grand scheme of things. Perhaps this is the case in her perceptions, too – and why she opted to leave him alone in a swarm of people after a moment that could only be described as...charged. 

“Go to sleep, you bastard. She’s havin’ fun with her friends. ‘S a good damn thing. You ain’t good for her. Ain’t never been good for no one.” 

He gives in to resignation, exhales and wipes both hands on an errant towel that’s lying nearby. As he goes, Joel switches the light off and exits the room, leaving it to its stillness with an aroma of wood oil and pine permeating throughout. It’s a cacophony of earthen scents, a small space that he revels in often and has found respite to otherwise tumultuous days in the past. A place he spends a decent amount of his life within and has seen him through his worst over the last couple of years. 

Before entering his bedroom, he peers over the staircase, white-knuckles the banister and listens – there’s nothing. Just a disparaging silence and an emptiness to match; there’s only the beat of his heart to remind him that he’s alive but entirely on his own. Like always. 

He rounds on a heel and steps into his room, shuts the door, shuts the curtains, shuts his worn and weary eyes. She’s not coming tonight. 

Joel hopes he can sleep.

††††

“You’ve spent the last few hours getting crossfaded and you’re wondering why your heart’s on the fritz? Look at your choices, you fucking idiot.” Ellie giggles as Dina tears Max a new one while simultaneously tapping the base of her glass to earn the last of its contents.

“And? You’re drunk as shit, Deedee. We all are. Speaking of, I’m gonna bounce. I gotta shift in the a.m. and I don’t wanna be DOA by the afternoon.” Max wobbly reaches and retrieves his jacket, dons his knit cap and makes for the entrance. He high-fives Ellie and Liam who are sitting on the couch together but at the last, he turns to flip Dina and Jesse off before leaving the garage ass-first. 

Liam laughs and turns towards Ellie as the room divides into equal halves. There’s an almost immediate tonal shift as he bumps her thigh and, “So, this has been a fun night...” 

Ellie huffs, holds to the middle of herself and gazes away. She glimpses Dina giving her _a look_ but it’s not the sort of expression she’s expecting to discover there. It’s partly encouraging, yes, but there’s a weariness as well – a moreness that the mossy-eyed girl is too incapacitated to differentiate. She’s of a mind to march over there right now and extract whatever this truth is that’s clearly breaking through Dina’s emotional surface. 

But just as it was at the Bison, now’s not the time for such things. 

“Ellie?” Liam pats a knee and it successfully reverts her attention from the pretty girl across the room to the dark-haired man sitting at her side. 

“I’m sorry, huh?” 

“Tonight’s been fun,” Liam repeats, chuckling tentatively while those icy-blues remain on her. The girl takes in the sight of him and finds she can’t resist a game of comparisons: Liam’s face has enough hair to qualify as a beard but there are missing elements that, simply put, have her longing, again, for another. Still, he is cute of course, and kind, funny, warm. But there’s no gray or years of weathering – no deeply-set scars or tales of heartache etching into the beautiful features that only one other possesses. There’s no true history here, no solid connection. 

There could be, if she allows it.  
She can sense as much emanating from him.  
Ellie doesn't know quite what she wants. Only that she has an innate _want_ but Brooks may not be the person she wishes to explore this with. 

“Yeah, yeah. It is. Ssorry, I’m just a little out of it. Booze is flowing and all, ya know.” 

Liam nods and shifts in his seat, a leg brushing up against hers now. He settles his elbow atop the couch and smiles that wide, bright grin of his. Something’s happening, or about to happen, Ellie can tell.

“I...like you. I hope that’s alright to say? I know at the dance you and Dina kissed and if it’s a thing you both want, I get it...but I dunno. Have things between you girls gone back to square one already? Shit, that’s none of my business. Although, she was out of her mind yesterday when you didn’t come home. A lot of us were, actually.” Liam’s blues drop as he scatterbrains all over himself. He waits, picks at a stray fuzzy on his wool sweater and nods his head to the low music playing in the background. 

Somehow the guy knows that looking at her will ultimately prove fruitless; Ellie’s difficult to read in general, even more so with the amount of liquor she’s been drinking all day. 

“Worried about me and Joel?” 

_’Joel.’_

“Well, yeah, but..mostly you. I can’t really speak for anyone else but I know I was pretty freaked.” 

Ellie offers a side-smile and leans onto the arm of the sofa, a few more inches apart from him, “Well, all ended on a high note. Thank fuck. Or...mostly. We lost Joel’s horse to the horde. That sucked. Still sucks.” 

Liam emits a sad breath of sound and nods in a knowing way, “Those things happen sometimes. Sorry for him, but again, I’m just glad _you’re_ okay. That you’re here...with me now, I mean.” 

The girl’s eyes level to his and she clocks a shift in his features that looks a lot like...chance. Their normal ease and air of conversation is beginning to change into something outside the realm of friendship. She can sense that, has been sensing that, and feels a tiny swell of loss prickle at the ends of her but makes no more of it. 

All that to say, she wants to stop this. It’s not that she’s not curious or attracted to him, it’s that she’s far too torn and far too inept at grappling with even the idea of this. And kissing three people in one week is two people too many. There’s that, too.

“So...maybe I could see you more? More than just the Bison for breakfast and the occasional hang?” 

She swallows and scratches a nail to the seam of her pants; she clumsily pulls and twists at the fabric as she mulls on what to say – on how to deconstruct what is occurring between them. 

The drink is clouding her judgement but Joel is suddenly clouding the rest of her; he’s on her tongue like the taste of peaches and fresh spring water, his touch on her skin like the wild dance of embers and an untameable nature that’s come together as one.

 _’Joel. Fuck.’_

“Yeah, maybe. I–I’m kinda tired though. And way too loaded of whiskey. I’ll be crawling to the diner for some of those delicious eggs tomorrow after service, eh? Ehhh?”

Ellie ends the chummy speech with a grin, though it doesn’t make the full journey to her eyes. She stands at that and throws her arms into the space above her head, “Alright, I love you all. Get the hell out. I’m exhausted. I’m pretty wasted and we have church in the morning. Now get.” 

Dina, Jesse and Liam laugh at first, before yawns and exaggerated stretching take up the last few minutes of their celebratory, holiday kick-off. 

“Jesse, wait outside with Liam a second?” Dina gestures to Brooks who is at the door, letting all the cold air in while the heat can do nothing in the way of combating this. 

Jesse bobs his head, pats Ellie’s shoulder and offers a poorly executed salute, “See ya tomorrow, Williams. Bright and early in the house of our Lord and Savior. Amen.” 

“Dork. Get out and shut the door, for fucks sake,” Ellie barks, but it’s lighthearted and teasing. They’re all close enough with one another that this form of ribbing is new to no one in their small group, especially after an evening at the Tipsy Bison _and_ hours at Ellie’s place.

Once the room is empty of both the guys, Dina grabs Ellie’s biceps and raises an eyebrow, “Okay, I know we are all like...kinda destroyed but you’re not into that dude at all, are you? Buuuut when I asked you at the bar if you liked him, you said...with stars and all the floaty planets captured in those clover eyes of yours...that you _did_ like him. So which is it? Or...wait. Is-is there someone else? Another _’him’?_ ” 

Ellie nibbles on her lower lip and masks the vulnerability that’s rendering her desperate to share the novel secrets to her heart. Before this week, she might have happily accepted Liam’s flirtatious extensions. Or hit on Dina until she was purple in the face. But now? Now everything is so...unfamiliar and upended. 

“I-It’s...uh–”

“Dina, I’m freezing my goddamn nuts off out here. Can this wait until morning?” 

Jesse is bouncing in the crack of the doorway, the steam from his mouth appearing like a smoky gray, a stark contrast to the deep midnight hues that are all around him. 

“Fuckin...Ellie, we are _talking_ about this tomorrow. Okay?” She lowers her eyes and gives a one-two bob to reaffirm her assertions. She won’t let whatever this is linger on any farther, not after the awkward display that unfolded before her very astute and knowing gaze. 

Ellie nods, Dina hugs her and then just like that, her friends have gone. 

The girl suspends herself for a minute or so, looks about her empty bedroom and sighs; there are beer bottles, semi-full ashtrays and a few sticky tumblers littering the table space. She can’t care about any of it right now. Ellie just wants her pajamas and her head on a pillow. 

As she finally sets in the direction of her dresser, her footfall a bit more wobbly than she appreciates, there’s a subtle knock. 

“I swear to God, Dina, if you forgot your hat or a glove I’m gonna shove it up your ass–”

“Hey.” 

It’s not Dina. 

“Oh, uh, hi, Joel.” He’s wearing a pair of sweats again and a thick, puffy jacket, but despite the comfortable appearance, there’s a sudden swell of irritation in Ellie’s chest. 

“Can...can I come in? ‘S’cold as hell out here.” 

Ellie steps aside and widens the area around her person, trying assiduously to steady herself amidst a fresh bout of lightheadedness. He reaches but she instinctively angles away – more from habit than anything else. She thinks. He hopes. 

“You alright, girl?” 

She nods, “Mmhm, whiskey. Was a fun night. What’d you do after the tree thing? How come you’re here? It’s so late. Mind if I get changed?” 

It’s a string of consciousness and he smiles as a semi-chaotic scene develops: she’s roaming her living quarters with a pace that’s set to the ease of Sunday morning, which, it technically is. But she’s going from the doorway to her dresser, from her mattress to her bathroom. In, out, around and back again. It’s like she’s unable to sit still or stay in one place too long. He hopes it’s just the booze and not discomfort that he’s here. 

As she goes, he stares as an ocean of auburn surrounds the pale shores of her face and marvels at the girl; he steals these glances and covets this moment in her haze of distraction, knowing that he never should have come over. That he should have listened to the screaming protestations in his head that said this was bound to end poorly for his heart. 

Joel walks to her desk and loops his winter coat over the neck of the empty chair. Moves to move with her but she’s too wiry and uncoordinated. 

“Hey, hey. C’mere, Ellie. Where’s the fire?” 

She stills herself at his request but ignores him; she tugs on the wooden drawer and retrieves an old tee, a fresh set of socks and clean panties. 

“What? No, I mean. Wait. You didn’t answer any of my questions, Joel… Why are you here? Did you come here for ssomething specific?” 

He sits on the edge of her coffee table and focuses on the floor, at the slush he’s brought in and the melting puddle that’s forming around his work boots as a direct consequence. 

“Wanted to check on you is all. You was out late an’ I...I’m sorry. Should I not’ve come?” 

Ellie rises and puts her back to Joel as she stands by the unmade lip of her bed. “Ha, like you wouldn’t have anyway.” The words come as a hiss beneath her breath and pointedly biting, but she’s not sure that he’s close enough to hear. 

After, she slips her shirt over her shoulders, tosses the garment into the laundry bin and goes to her jeans from there. In a few short moments, she’s all but naked, save for a fading, but still fancy, ruby-red bra and matching lace panties. She discovered these unscathed and wrapped in plastic at a department store they looted a few years ago. He hadn’t seen her swipe them then but he’s sure seeing them now. 

She peeks behind herself and catches him watching her, his hazels on the taut but ample curves; on the dimples indenting above her round globes and the way the lace frames the flawless curves at the apex of her thighs.

Joel exhales and fists his hands.

“Ellie, I should go?” 

“Go then. I’m just getting into bed, Joel. For another night of hell probably but hey, at least I’m drunk enough to sleep deeper tonight maybe? Whaddya think?” 

He rises and walks to her in a few short steps, his proximity close enough that he can recognize the scents of alcohol and her shampoo. He knows he shouldn’t be this close. Not when she’s...not like this. 

“You mad at me for somethin’?” 

She unlatches the clasp of her bra and spins to face him directly; her eyes are a storm, a swollen sea of jade that’s colliding with a hazel ring of fire as their waves begin to crest. She holds her breasts with her forearm and pitches her jaw out in exasperation. 

“You think it was a mistake, don’t you? You’re not pissed at yourself, you’re pissed that it happened at all, right? What-what is it? Am I not pretty enough for you, Joel? I seem to be alright for other people but you...I guess not, huh?” 

Joel’s head droops; if she only knew. It was his fault she didn’t know. 

His hands begin to twitch – hands that are aching to touch her, to hold and share in every illicit fantasy he’s envisioned on this night and all the ones from the past week together. Ones that go against principles he never thought he’d waver on. Principles and promises that have made him the man he is today. 

“Ellie.” 

“Touch me.” 

“You’re drunk.” 

“ _You’re_ afraid.” 

He sighs, there’s no winning this, so, “Let’s...get you to bed, alright? You got hardly nothin’ on an’ it ain’t exactly summertime in here.” 

“Coward.” 

“Now c’mon. That ain’t fair. I ain’t takin’ advantage of you again. Not on account of nightmares, especially not on account of booze. I mean, shit, we almost kissed in front’a the whole of Jackson tonight. An’ you think, you think what, that you’re not pretty enough for _me?_ Look at you, girl…” 

He steps closer, traces his fingertips along the smooth curvature of her waistline before drawing across each of her hips. He stops at the decorative lace band at the summit of her panties, hooks his thumb inside ever-so and waits. 

She sucks in a lungful of air, shivers at how deliciously exposing this all makes her feel, at how much she likes it; she’s marveling at the blind reactiveness of her entire body to even the most minimalistic contact. 

“I’m serious...look’a you. Look’a these...sexy things on you. You have...no idea what it’s takin’ for me to be a good man right now.” 

Ellie looks north, uses her free arm to embrace and angle him into her, right where she likes this man to be. The girl feels a tensity rolling through him that betrays his sudden silence – his arousal is obvious in all ways, as she can see and feel it alongside the truth of all those unsaid words. She lets her other arm fall at this realization but it reveals little to nothing of her chest to him – he’s ruefully blind to her breasts due to the position they’re in. Once she’s done settling, the woman rests an ear to his heart and closes her dizzy eyes. 

The cadence is faster than normal and more beautiful because of it somehow. 

“Stay here tonight?” 

“Mmhm. But...baby, please, put a t-shirt on.” 

She laughs against him and squeezes his middle harder. What a turn of events this night has taken – the past seven nights, if she’s counting. She is. 

The girl recalls how Liam _just_ asked to start something more than a friendship with her while in a haze of drunkenness and the mirth of good times. Yet here she is, not a half hour out from that offer, in the arms of this man, nearly nude and yet, he’s able to resist her for all the right reasons. 

Ellie may not like it, but what she does know is that it’s enough. For now. 

An edge returns to her voice as she leans back, “Let’s get something clear, Joel. You keep turning me down, I’m gonna stop offering one day, got it?” 

He nods, “Noted. Now spin around an’ get a damn top on before I rethink my stance on things.” 

She does. 

He watches. 

After a few last minute bedtime routines, they slip into the sheets and a mess of blankets together and fall into their designated positions. Her rear is to his front, an arm beneath her pillow, their hands and legs intertwining until both are content enough to drift away. 

In the suspension of a moment or two, Joel kisses just below her ear and holds his lips there, feels her pulse quicken and her body rolling against his instinctually. Her limbs, hands, and fingers grip onto him a measure tighter before she breathes out in disappointment: One of his strong hands closes onto her hip and stills the girl. Dangerous, this one. 

_’This woman. Reckon I never knew a girl who took to every little thing I do quite like she does.’_

“You tired?” 

She turns her cheek to face him and nuzzles closer, “Mmhm, I guess. And...I’m sorry I called you a coward. I’m...I had a lot to drink and it’s been a _fucking_ shitstorm of a week, ya know?” 

“I know. Don’t worry none.” 

She stays there and he knows what she wants, decides if he was strong enough to resist her once – resist her naked, at that – he can do it again if need be. 

He kisses her lips and it’s soft and slow and swollen with all those emotions neither of them are adept at outright saying. They’re dancing spheres around and above the truth, brushing nearer and nearer to it each night and yet neither have been able to speak the thing aloud. 

And they won’t here tonight either. There’s too much on the line. Too much to lose. 

He breaks the kiss once he feels her grinding into his front, seeking what she knows he’s trying to hide away. 

“Mmph, girl. Okay, alright. Time to sleep. Goodnight, babydoll.” 

“Goodnight, Joel. You suck.” 

“I know.”

††††

She’s been asleep for a while but Joel can’t seem to settle properly into a similar sense of repose. Not for his lack of needing rest, no. He’s exhausted from...everything but he’s struggling too much with the truth that’s laying so raw and untamable within and without his heart.

In the space where sound and light mean less than the movements of souls, he feathers kisses onto the constellation of freckles that adorn the girl. Her shoulder, her neck, and a portion of her upper back – he kisses each of them slowly, romantically. He even dares to taste her skin with the tease of his tongue ever-so. He’s careful not to press too hard and stir the girl – he doesn’t want her to wake and see him so hopelessly lost to the affections she’s eliciting from him. 

It’s a hindrance and a help as he makes to ease a bottomless ache that’s blooming in the depths of him more and more with each passing moment beside her. 

The man knows what this is, knows what’s igniting inside of him like the spark of new life or the pledge of brand new beginnings. Knows its name, knows its place and its origin. Knows of it from his past but has never known it to feel quite like this. 

He’s fearful of how strong and permanent these rising tides drawing near look to be, fearful of the storm, fearful of the calm. Fearful of loss. Of gain. But he’s most afraid of mistruths and falsehoods tearing him down to his studs like before. He won’t allow for that, knows he’d never recover, should the inclination to lie rear its feral teeth at him again. 

So as the pale winter moonlight pours through azure fabric, as the warmth of the girl in his arms radiates and claims him for her own, Joel finally welcomes the untold secret of his heart. 

He leans his forehead into the crook of her neck and whispers, “I’ve fallen in love with you, baby.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, NOTES TIME! 
> 
> • DAMN, FINALLY JOEL. But...she was asleep. So we're halfway closer to...something, right? Course January is right around the corner and all those hard decisions will still loom.  
> • What do we think Ellie might feel of her getting butt-ass bare in front of Joel come morning time? We've all been drunk, we know. WE KNOW. But morning mass will certainly be interesting, that's for sure.  
> • And Dina – do we love Dina wholly and completely yet?! Because damn. She's the all-knowing, sexy bff we all should have. Think Ellie will spill the beans of what's been going on? Think she SHOULD?  
> • Oh, Liam. You're good, but maaaybe not good enough? Maybe, maybe not. Sigh. I'm sorry Mr Brooks but Ellie doesn't seem that into you, at least not drunk, indecisive Ellie.  
> • Beth...and her friend. Hmm. 
> 
> I went much lighter on the poetic prose this go around and while I will always keep that a part of my writing – because it's my style – this chapter was so heavy on dialogue and tonal shifts that I needed stray a bit from my usual habitat. I hope it's enjoyable, nevertheless! 
> 
> Thank you SO SO MUCH! The bells and whistles on this little long story warm my heart in ways I won't ever truly find the words to say. Also – I LOVE your comments and the enthusisam for this fiction. I love it I love it I love it. Thank you, always. 
> 
> And that's chapter 8! Come back in the next week (or so) for another installment – there will be another morning after and a hella tense dinner at Joel's – who might we think will be in attendance? xx


	9. & Waking Paracosms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joel is first to rise but leaves abruptly while Ellie steals a moment for herself after a week of hell and unfulfilled desires. There's Sunday church, conversations aplenty and after, Ellie finally takes time to journal and consider a few of the events – a dark one in particular – from the past week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *taps mic* Is this thing still on? OHHH Lordt, am I late this week. Blame November for being November. I swear if 2020 is a curse word then November is its 2nd cousin. Finding time and the brain power to write in the melee of this month has been an utter nuisance. That said, I am here, she (the chapter) is long and I hope it'll be enough to carry us through to early December! 
> 
> BUT I want to thank EVERYONE for the generously wonderful comments and the love you continually show this story (and me by proxy). My cup runneth over, truly. 
> 
> As always, I'll save my notes for the close.

The December sun is rising but it’s early yet; with only the faintest hint of amber on a faraway horizon, this lost and weary world is sedately greeting the new day. Still, the souls of Jackson, Wyoming are stirring as the last vestiges of nighttime try to lure its dreaming, its restful, its tired back into the promised land of ataraxia. 

The morning light shows dull and dim – a blend of steely blues and bleached grays that paint a scenic landscape with the cruelest acrylics of winter. The temperature remains resolutely unforgiving, much like life in this world of woe and want; it’s a bitter type of cold, with weightless flakes of white that float languidly from a diffuse sky above to an icy earth below. 

In the calm of the colorless hour there lies a man who’s not quite awake but not fully asleep either. There’s a peace he feels, a totality that’s fusing with the very fibers of his person; it’s of a sound and clarity that he’s never known, has never been privy to in his sad, sorry life. 

The girl in his arms is the cause, the source, his reason; she’s breathing evenly, a softness to her cadence that tells to the sunken depths of her slumber. He knows she will likely sleep for a while yet, and so he revels in the notion of staying here, just like this. Somewhere between the waking light and the warmth of blissful unawareness. 

Peace. 

He’s sculpted to her small frame, holding tight to silent truths and this woman he loves so vastly – the woman he is _in_ love with. Those words and their meaning linger on his lips and his tongue, tasting real and right in ways that are both foreign and familiar. He muses on them, on their powerful lure and seductive intrigue – it’s an unstoppable belief that has somehow become his reality. 

Once on the cusp of sleep, long after Ellie abandoned consciousness, Joel whispered his convictions over and over again. It wasn’t meant to convince him, no; he’s always been of a resolute sort when it comes to decision making and matters of the heart. Even an abused, tortured heart like his understands what it is to love. 

No, those murmurings were a way for him to acknowledge the shock of this admittance as a whole, to hear the words spoken and thus descend into the well of its gravity – to accept that it _is_ really happening to him. That it’s not just a byproduct of her fever dreams. 

Love is never an afterthought. 

Still, here in these serene shallows of low tide, Joel must wade the still waters carefully; he can’t let himself go under too fast or out too far from shore. Not yet, anyway. 

_’My Ellie.’_

Saying her name in the quiet of this space moves him; Joel presses a kiss to her mess of auburn and inhales a fresh cacophony of linen and mint. He kisses her shoulder, too, his mouth parting over the caramel stars that dance across her pale skies. Pretty. So pretty.

He’s not wanting to keep his eyes open for too long just yet; Joel’s fearful of breaking the spell that’s come like a haunting of the heart. He knows its name, what it looks and sounds like, but is having a difficult time discerning whether or not this phantom has visited him before now. He doesn’t want to frighten the thing. He’s been known to frighten things from time to time. 

Instead, he ignores the ghost in favor of tracing the warm flesh at her waist; he moves his thumb in a spherical pattern while teasing the edges of her panty line with each passing rotation. She seemed to have liked that a few hours ago, when she was basically nude and asking for more than she ever has. 

He swallows at the thought, swallows at how this girl seems to take so well to all that he does, no matter how meager or controlled his tactile responses may be. Meager and controlled for the time being, he thinks. He hopes.

There’s a thought to slip his hand inside the thin fabric that separates her from him, to travel his calloused and worn hands over the soft skin that is painfully within reach. To feel her heat – her tensity – and celebrate the precise moment in which she would surely burn away the rest of his reticence. He wants Ellie to consume the last dregs of doubt that whisper of how this can’t possibly be real, that this can’t be where he is right here, right now – that fate's injustice is not playing its final gambade on him. 

Still, he is here and each of these infinitesimal touches is taking embers and turning them into wild infernos; his mind is a waking paracosm of a world he wishes to share, a world where age, ravaging disease, loss and betrayal have no roots. An imaginary _otherways,_ a time of peace and an abundance of togetherness. And...family.

The man nuzzles into the bend of her neck, burrowing into this tranquil sea that is so close and so far from where his fitful desires are mooring. As he lays there, Joel is on the cusp of letting go completely, of pairing this new acceptance with the physical manifestations of what he feels for this girl. 

For now though, he won’t do anything beyond what she’s already allowed, won’t take anything that he’s not been explicitly given; but this is enough, this is more than enough. 

Joel exhales, steals himself and puts space between his front and her rear then, just as he’s done every morning for the past seven. The combination of an unstable fervor and his early day erections are his to concern himself with, not hers. Still, the thing would exist regardless of his lewd musings, but it’s certainly been made all the worse because of them. Today especially. 

He’s straining in his sweatpants, his body and balls aching just as they did prior to his release last night. A shiver lances through him at the thought of that vigorous orgasm; how desperate he was to relieve himself after a week of extenuating circumstances that left him purposely going without. And yet, here, now, barely twelve hours out and the tight circle of heat that simmers low in his belly is already begging for attention. 

Joel sighs wantonly as he recalls, again, the moment she stood in front of him, clad in those lacy red panties and nothing more. How her skin felt chilled and warm at the same – how her breath hitched when the tip of his finger dipped into her waistline. 

But it wasn’t only that…it was how her petite, lithe frame fit into his embrace in ways even his most vivid fantasies were incapable of accurately creating. How she pinned her breasts to his chest and looked up at him with such a wicked look of mischief to her jade eyes as she calmed from the fury of supposed rejection. 

_’Stop, stop this. Get outta this bed an’ go...shower. Calm down, man.’_

As he lays there in sheer torment and stunting indecision, so close in proximity that it’s hindering his thought process, he wonders if he shouldn’t leave but rather return to her again. To let Ellie feel the full extent of him without needing to hide or shift around like some embarrassed teenage boy. 

Immediately following that thought is whether or not she even wants to have him against her in that way, if only by the nature of his body versus anything overtly sexual. To which this moment certainly is the latter...for him. 

Joel doesn’t leave the bed to shower but doesn’t move closer either. 

Instead, his meandering journey’s to the Baldwin Mansion and the way she ground her center onto what she could reach of him in that position. It wasn’t much at the time, considering Joel’s damp jeans and the cold floor they were awkwardly kneeling on. But if she were to feel him now, or any morning thereafter, he ruminates on if she would like that, if she would enjoy it and maybe...grab and grip him the way he aches to be touched. 

As Joel sinks further into this harrowing existence, this profound realm of newness, he hears Ellie mumble in her sleep; it’s a content sort of sound, the kind people emit when they’re comfortable and earning the rest they so deserve. Just as she does. 

It strikes him then that they’ve gone the entire night without Ellie waking from the nightmare – exactly one week since it initially occurred. He hopes this is the result of more than a blissful sail on boozy celebratory seas, but regardless of the reason, he’s happy for it. Being beholden to the pain that swarms and infuses itself to this beautiful woman is unlike anything he’s ever born witness to. To see such terror happen night after night – to calm and hold her through the weight of fear and grief that should be as hollow as the bones of birds are, has been a trial unto itself. 

There’s a relief to this realization that he hopes she shares, once she’s awake and recovering from her alcoholic adventuring. 

He squeezes tighter at that and feathers a few more kisses to her earlobe, her throat, and her temple as he tastes and gives of himself in this space between worlds. Joel holds, clings, and continues to want. More than he has any right to want. Especially with this girl. 

The man clears his throat a measure and reseals his hazels, tries feebly to temper the boiling well of physical desire; he knows any additional sleep will elude him, knew it the instant he woke to his dick diamond-hard and pressing to the small of Ellie’s spine. He might as well have been thrusting, given how solid and...ready he was when he decided to pull away. 

Though, from that moment onward he’s done nothing but work himself further into a tizzy, his thoughts ensnared between the vastness of this lust and the angst of a bone-crushing dismissal. Both pathways appear so vividly on the horizon that’s just up ahead; he’s standing at a precipice, a plateau with only two viable choices – he can keep on, dive over and pray that the leap he’s willing to take will outfit his body with wings. 

_Or._

Or he could turn back, retrace his steps and deny all that he’s feeling; bury the love, lock away the want, and refuse the silent aches that plead without reason or justification. 

_”I don’t want kids.”_

Ellie’s revelation slams into him like an angry swell of the stormy seas, one wave befalling him after the next, after the next. She spoke those words to him, her voice clear, concise – a creed. That was that. 

He believes her, needs to believe her, _has_ to believe. Lies have no residency between them anymore. 

So if he stays and if she miraculously chooses to have all that he’s open to give, all that he _chooses_ to offer, that would mean going against her wishes, against her word. He won’t do that to her; he knows now that he’s willing to sever the promises he’s made to himself these past two and a half decades but Joel won’t force her to do the same. Won’t lead Ellie into a life that may result in the same road of perpetual grief and an emptiness so endless that it has no name. 

The sigh he lets slip is a sad and woeful sound, an acknowledgment that his love is bearing far too much weight in far too short a time; the exertions from these emotional olympics are heavy, burdensome and mind-numbingly confusing. He goes from one extreme to the next and back again, torn and whole and asunder – round and round and round. 

He loosens his arms and opens to view the girl that lies in them; weak rays of sunlight are bleeding through the cerulean curtains and it’s this soft ambience that allows him to see more of her. Dawn is framing her face in a palette of blue and gold; her hair is shiny and messy, partially spread and painting her pillow in a mix of reds and browns. He loves this image of her, vulnerable and peaceful – finds there isn't much he doesn’t love about this girl. 

Despite knowing how much there is still to discover. 

Joel wants to recede into the warmth of this wholesome moment, to transcend to that other place he’s building in the prism of these faraway thoughts. He’s nearly there when he hears a banging knock to _his_ house’s rear door. 

_“Shit.”_

The man rises slowly, disentangling his limbs and his love for the time being. Joel moves quietly about the garage space but with a practiced haste; he knows whomever is there will likely come to Ellie’s place soon enough and if they find him here, half dressed and half asleep – and half hard now – he’ll have far too many prying questions to answer for. On top of that, he doesn’t want anyone to wake her. She’s been needing this restful of a night’s sleep more than anyone else in this town. 

He hears knuckles on wood again, harder this time and knows his time is running thin. 

Joel tosses his tee shirt and coat on, zips himself in before bending to pull his boots up around his ankles. He thieves a fleeting second or so to look at his girl lying comfortably cozy in a pile of body-warm blankets. Asleep still and so beautiful his chest hurts. 

The man smiles and makes towards the exit, ready to growl at whoever it is that thought this hour was appropriate to show up unannounced and uninvited. 

Of course it’s his brother. 

The air instantly pierces Joel’s skin like a thousand shivs cutting in quick succession – if only he could be so lucky to craft such a grandiose number in the road days of yore. He winces at the weather’s assault, levels a stern gaze to the man on his porch and, “What’re you doin’ here, Tommy?” 

“We need’a talk. But...wha–what’re you doin’ at Ellie’s this early?” 

“Ellie an’ her friends went drinkin’ last night. I was just checkin’ to make sure she was good is all. An’ what do _we_ gotta talk ‘bout?” Joel pulls the collar of his puffy coat to his throat as he makes a direct heading to his front door. The rear entrance – the one Tommy was just hammering on – has a pile of laundry baskets blocking the other side and he’s not in the mood to fight with menial tasks at this hour. 

“Joel, now c’mon. We need’a get our shit straight ‘bout the Mandate an’ the town hall meetin’. Can we talk over coffee?” 

The older Miller sibling stops and stretches his neck, exhales a beat before, “I ain’t givin’ you any of the good stuff. An’ I got shit to do before church. So let’s get a move on if we’re _gettin’ our shit straight,’_.”

††††

“We– _I_ –shoulda told you. An’ Ellie. I know that, knew it all along. But my hands were tied, Joel. Maria an’ the rest of the council woulda had my hide if I said anythin’. We got a fine structure here, order. Just ‘cause you’re my brother an’ she’s...well, she’s Ellie, don’t mean I can be droppin’ bombs ahead of the mission, ya know?”

Tommy sips his coffee – chicory, not the good stuff – and sucks noisily at his teeth. The grinds are coarse and gritty but it’s warm and not without a pleasant taste; after the freezing walk to Joel’s and damn near breaking into the man’s house for fear of something gone awry, he finds he’s hard pressed to complain. 

“You think we woulda said somethin’ to anyone else? C’mon boy, that’s bullshit an’ you know it. I had to sit there an’ listen to your wife go on an’ on ‘bout prosperity an’ duty – fuckin’ hell. Duty? Havin’ kids is now gonna be part of Jackson’s _duties_? That it?” 

Tommy sighs and leans to the wooden rails that line the back of the kitchenette’s chair. 

“Havin’ babies ain’t what the duty is an’ you know it. You’re warpin’ my words because–”

 _“Because?”_

Tommy stops at the fit of fury that flashes across Joel’s features like a warning sign. He knew this was bound to broach the topic of his niece sooner or later, but this feels...too soon somehow. Twenty-five years on and it seems as though now is still far too close to the events of that night. 

“Joel, I don’t understand that kind of loss, ya know that. But this...this ain’t that. We ain’t forcin’ folks to make babies or sendin’ them to their deaths if they don’t. It’s not–I’m not…” 

The younger man loses the fight and gives way for his sentence to drift off; it’s a shared knowing between these two, an understanding that needs no additional words to speak it into existence. It’s already there. 

Joel pushes his empty coffee mug away, mirrors his brother and tilts; he smooths his beard with the palm of a hand as he thinks on what it is he’s meant to be saying here. Thinks he’s not the one that needs to be talking in respect to this conversation they’re having. 

Stubborn. Bullheaded Joel Miller.  
Just like always. 

“We got a lot to work through in these future forums. It ain’t all set in stone yet. The incentives are good, and safety is important. We ain’t risking lives to bring more in. You gotta know that much.” 

Joel grumbles as his hand slaps to the tense muscles of his thigh. 

“I don’t know what I know anymore, to be honest.” 

Tommy purses his lips, takes a swift swig of the cooling brew and angles in, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothin’. Just means I don’t know what the hell is up or down lately.” 

The older brother rises and walks his cup to the sink, rinses and sets it off to the side for later. He wishes there was more coffee but that last...was the last. His bartered reserves from a couple weeks back have been depleted. 

There’s always chicory. 

Joel grimaces. 

“Got anythin’ to do with Ellie?” 

“Hmm?”

“Ellie. Y’all definitely seem closer all of a sudden. Did somethin’ change? I mean, you was visitin’ her this damn early? On a Sunday. After a night of drinkin’ with friends, no less.” 

Joel doesn’t turn around to answer his brother, just places his hands on the edge of his counter and grips hard. 

“We’re fixin’ things. An’ I was checkin’ on her to make sure she was alright. Because of the boozin’. But listen, I gotta figure out dinner for tonight an’ get ready for service still.”

The sibling knows when he’s being dismissed and right now, he’s being summarily dismissed. 

“Before I go, me an’ Maria are gonna be at the dinner tonight. Same as every Sunday. We okay for now? Okay for dinner?” 

“Mmhm. But Tommy, I’m still pissed off. It ain’t right, what you did. Aside from knowin’ what you know of Sarah, you know of Ellie, too. Did either of you stop to think of what a mandate like this might make her think?” 

His hazel eyes are cutting and controlled, his words firm and precise — Joel does not mince. 

Tommy nods, “More than you know, Joel.” 

With that, the younger man puts his used mug in the sink and makes to exit the kitchen without a glance or a closing word. 

“What the fuck does that mean?” Joel calls from behind, but it’s a futile effort: Tommy’s through the door and out of range.

††††

Orbs of emerald green and flares of liquid gold peek through heavy lids, working lazily to unseal the night and grant the day its due.

The girl yawns, stretches a length and glides her touch down the smooth plane of her belly. Low, to the space just below her navel — to the place he likes to linger and use as an anchor, holding her through stormy seas or still waters. It’s the spot that seems to ground them when all else fades into the maze of what dreams may come. 

She dances her tips onto her skin, channeling their melody as she seeks the reassurance of his weight and the soundness of his pressure. 

There is nothing.  
Her belly is empty.  
Void of him. 

Ellie rolls onto her back and sees the space is hollow, without Joel — Joel who was most definitely there when she fell asleep and most definitely snoring when she stirred a few times in the night. 

She sits at that and peers about, eyes hunting for him, demeanor as accusatory as it is curious. She doesn’t find what she’s searching for but instead notes the remnants of her evening littering: used shot glasses, sticky tumblers, ashen ashtrays...all par for the course. 

But no Joel. 

Giving it another once-over before she calls it what it is — maybe he’s in the bathroom — she wraps the blanket to her waist and, “Joel?” 

Silence. 

He’s well and truly not here. 

She sighs and rubs her eyes, carefully removing tiny pieces of crust from their edges. 

“Well fuck you then.”

There’s a great swell of annoyance that breaches at his absence, a frustration that’s met with a surprising level of disappointment at first. Still, it’s not the only thing vying for her utmost; a twist in her abdomen is beginning to unspool and expand with each passing moment. It’s a whisper of want. A hint of need. 

Despite those sensations, her head is splitting and her limbs feel heavy – undoubtedly from a generous consumption of booze – but it’s that _otherness_ that’s overthrowing all the rest. It’s this silent furor that’s pushing the exhaustive affects of her hangover aside as sirens beckon louder — whining for Ellie’s attention and acknowledgement. 

She knows exactly what it is but initially opts to deny the urge; she’s not of a right mind to touch herself, to play with all the parts that Joel continually finds reason and cause to ignore. _Too upset, too drunk._ Blah blah blah. 

As she begrudgingly slips from the warmth of her sleeping cocoon, an echo of pops and cracks greets the surrounding quiet; it’s colder in this place than it was the night before, but that’s nothing new. The space heaters and the wood-burning stove can only do so much without hourly upkeep throughout the night; she woke several times from a need to use the bathroom or to curl deeper into Joel’s embrace. Beyond that, Ellie paid little mind to static sources of warmth other than the man in her bed. 

That familiar spark of desire fractures outward at the mere thought of him, of his expanse and how close he keeps to her from the time they fall together to the time they wake...today notwithstanding, of course. How grounding that hardened, scarred bulk of his is and how tight his body feels when he gets exci– _’Stop it. You’re mad. No, not mad. You’re annoyed. He left you without a note or a reason. Don’t want what doesn't want you.’_

The girl pleads to the gods of discipline and stubbornness as she scrubs her way through a lukewarm shower, mind torn between snuffing these seducing wonderments or giving into them completely. It wouldn’t require any substantial amount of time and is likely to ease the overall tension that’s building; ever since their first mind-blowingly good kiss at the Baldwin place two nights back, Ellie’s cravings for more have been noticeably skyrocketing. 

Now gone from the washroom, she peeks to the clock and notes that there’s a half hour or so before church. Plenty of time to get this over with before she’s face to face with him again. Before she has to temper and hide the raw nature of her emotions again. 

Ellie teases a mess of auburn, turns an aging knob on the electric heater two clicks to the right and tosses another log into the stove for good measure. After, she walks to her mattress, drops her damp terrycloth towel and leans forward. She uses an arm for support, her palm pressing flat to the soft sheet that’s woefully cold from Joel’s absence. 

_’...Joel.’_

As it crests the razor's edge of her tongue, his name is a chimera of forbidden tastes; there’s anger, annoyance and a happy history that lives in its weight, yes, but there’s more. So much more now. 

The more is what she’s focusing on at present. 

Using her free hand, Ellie teases one of her hard nipples but hastily brushes beyond it for the time being. Still, she’s aching to be handled – to be cupped, squeezed and sucked as though his life depended on the very act of it. 

“But he’s not here…” 

Ellie scowls at the inconvenient truth but pushes it away, choosing instead to visualize him...in different ways. 

Ways that serve to remind the girl of just how hard his cock gets when he’s asleep — and how much she wants to grip him with more than just her hands. 

Of how his breath hitched when she pulled on his gorgeously thick hair and his hips snapped in response. It was a slight thrust but it was there and she felt its unbridled power. 

Of how he likes to kiss and tease and taste her when he believes she’s sleepily unaware. 

Of how his hands slapped her ass _just enough_ to let her know that he’s unafraid to be rough with her. 

Of how Joel seems to like it rough. 

At that last, Ellie employs the pads of her fingers and runs them through the slick that’s pooling between her legs. She hisses at how wet she is, how needy and swollen and ready. 

She repeats the circular motion onto her nub generously, applying pressure as she goes down and more when she comes back up again. Her hips rock ever-so with the cadence she’s set, each of her lower limbs bending in response to how good it feels. She wants it to feel better. 

Ellie parts at the knees and spreads enough to penetrate the empty hole that’s dripping like an ill-tended faucet. 

“Fuck…”

She’s aware she needs to quicken her pace, that the clock is winding down and Joel might very well show at her door any second. To walk her to church no less. 

The mere idea of that actually happening sets her teeth on edge and her blood to boil; to be caught with his name on her lips and fantasies of his mouth on her pussy is the latest addition to her expanding, albeit brand new, Joel library. 

Ellie whimpers as a slippery pair of fingers enter and hook forwards inside of her; she eases them in and out in a rhythm that’s gaining momentum with every pressuring penetration. Her hips are whining onto her hand, too, failing over and over again to fill the deepest recesses of herself. To fill that void that’s desperately seeking more. 

She knows what she has is not enough and immediately starts to tickle the premise of what _would_ be more than enough. The girl’s arousing ramblings become less and less clear as this continues, her body readying itself for what is to come. 

It’s happening fast, so tantalizingly fast this time. 

Ellie revels in the friction from the heel of her palm, but it's not fully delivering what it is she yearns for. 

_’...fucking s-stretch me, Joel…you fucking...assho...le.’_

She adds a third finger and whimpers at the flexible ring that’s tightening evermore — it’s too much but she wants to take it, wants to prove to him one day that she _can,_ and will, greedily accept his big cock, no matter how tight and small and inexperienced she may be. 

_’Teach me to take it, Joel…’_

As these hidden kinks begin to spin and merge with the physical depths of her, Ellie gives in. To her frustrations with him, her anger and the fiery passion that’s showing as dangerously apparent. 

“Oh, fuck, ohfuck…” 

Ellie grits her teeth, grips the bedsheet, and curls her toes as a fevering orgasm tears itself through; waves of concentrated heat descend and spill over from her ground zero, filling all ends of her with satiating beams of pure light. It’s a harrowing experience as the climax steals her air and replaces it with an intrigue of what she hopes self-pleasure will feel like from now on. 

“Fucking hell…” Ellie mumbles, her voice unsteady and thin from the momentary lack of oxygen. She’s inside of herself still as she begins to come down from the whirling high that damn near swept her off her feet – literally. She choices a brief look towards the window on the opposite side of her bed and immediately falls to her knees and gasps. 

Joel and Dina are there, standing twenty or so feet in front of her field of view and talking together. Prior to falling, Ellie caught the rear of Joel and Dina standing ahead of him – she looks pretty, he looks clean. 

A sniff-snort sort of sound escapes then, as she considers her immediate situation: Her flimsy curtains weren’t split all the way but if either of them were there for any length of time, they would have easily seen the peep show she hadn’t intended to put on. She laughs from her place on the floor and fumbles with the semi-dry towel, wiping her sticky hand onto it before wrapping the thing as best she’s able from such an awkward position. 

After waiting a beat, she stands and steps to her dresser to retrieve a fresh set of clothes for the day. Notes that Joel and Dina are no longer there. 

“Hmm. Where’d you two go?” 

As she poses her curiosities to the ether, Ellie pushes aside her everyday panties in favor of another special pair. They’re hunter-green with a see-through mesh lining in the front and rear. She doesn't know why she wants to wear these, not really, but surmises it has everything to do with the explosive orgasm that’s just blown every vein in her body. 

As she slides them over her taut hips, she steals a glance to the clock again and sees that she has only ten minutes to finish and make it to the church on time. 

“Shit, shit, shit. Pastor Pedro is gonna give me the unholy glare if I’m late again.” 

As she reaches the end of her inner fervency, there comes a light knock to her door. A perfect sign from above if ever there was one.

“Gimme a second.” 

Joel or Dina, most likely. 

After pulling a pant leg on and zipping up, she dons the rest of her dressings and cuts a swift track to greet her visitor. 

Visitor _s_. 

Joel _and_ Dina. 

“Oh, hey...you two.” Sage eyes wander and look away from the four that are fastidiously staring at her. 

Dina is in front of Joel and though both are wearing warm smiles despite the frigid winter all around, her friend – her girlfriend, that is – appears all the worse for the wear. 

“You ready yet? Ugh, I feel like ass. Wanna go and get my God on and get back home and sleep until shift tomorrow morning. I swear I’m gonna. What the hell did we even drink last night and why do you look like you’re not hungover at all?” 

Ellie and Joel’s eyebrows mirror one another as they arch north, absorbing the barrage that is Dina Pereria in the cold light of day. 

“Uh...wow. That’s a lot. And I don’t know, I showered and slept great I guess...anyway, let’s get going. We’re letting all my warm air out again. You’re the worst at this.” 

The trio exits using the back yard gate, and walk silently through the town’s bountiful greenhouses as they head towards the playground. The old church is right beside it and while they know it’s likely slim pickings for seats – if you arrive on time, you’re late – they’ll make due with what they have. 

Joel is trailing along behind Ellie and Dina as they go, his hands digging into his jacket and chin tucking in low to his chest to combat the cold. 

“How’re you feelin’, Ellie?” His voice is far more calming than it has any right to be and seeing him after being annoyed and horny — and half awake for both — reminds her that she...didn’t have the nightmare. This fact sees her abruptly stopping and he nearly knocks into her before catching himself and grabbing her shoulders to keep from toppling over.

“Whoa, you alright?” 

Dina turns and stops, watches on curiously but says nothing all the while. 

“Yeah, I–um...yeah. I’m alright. Sorry, just uh, just remembered something.” 

Joel swallows and pointedly avoids looking directly at her. He can only assume what it is that’s throwing her into a state of motionless reflection. Perhaps it was her stripping in front of him last night or maybe some of the words she lobbed that were full up on fear and accusation. It could also be the plesant relief in knowing that she didn’t wake in a panic once...or from fucking herself good and hard by the bedside. He glimpsed just enough of that scene on his way to meet her not twenty minutes ago and couldn’t believe what he was actually witnessing at first. 

As he spun away and started the trek for Sunday service — and allowed the girl her privacy (despite the instant swell of his dick at how sexy it was to see her like that) — he bumped right into her friend. Dina. 

Joel coughs and slides a hand through his hair, “I hope it’s a good thing?” 

Ellie nods and looks to the wayside, locks her greens to Dina’s chestnuts and forces a smile, “Yeah, I’ll...let’s talk later sometime?” 

Joel lends a side smile and squeezes one of the girl’s shoulders before the visualization of what she was doing swings to the forefront again. He didn’t espy much from his vantage point, and he didn’t stay to watch as he didn’t feel privy to see such an intimate thing, but oh. He saw enough of her face, her breasts and the way her arm was moving to know he wants to see more. 

He feels a stirring again and repeats his cough; it’s a simple tactic meant to distract and it does, for the most part. 

_’Gotta stop. This is ridiculous. Ain’t some little teenage shit. Control yourself.’_

“O’course. Dinner tonight? It’s Sunday…” Joel lets the question linger as he anxiously awaits her response; even after a week like this one, a week of being with her in ways they’ve never been, he’s still afraid to assume anything. Especially with having to leave her in a rush this morning and not having time to explain yet. 

“Mmhm. Absolutely.” 

“Uh, Ellie, Joel? Service is starting in about ten seconds and unless you want that small pastor man putting us on blast, we should head in. Also, I feel more ass-ish than before.” 

Dina notes the exact moment the older man and her best friend return to the here and now; it’s a revealing sort of sight, the kind that tends to happen when folks are taken so far out by an undertow that they haven’t quite realized it. 

Folks who share stories without the use of a single word. 

“Right. Church. C’mon, ladies.”

††††

“Did you ask him about tonight? That we’re coming to dinner to work through all this nonsense?” Maria Miller is idling beside her husband as she greets some of the service’s congregation. She likes to wait in the vestibule afterwards and chat with friends and familiar faces each week, and the town seems to enjoy it in tandem.

“I did. He knows we’ll be there. Man’s still plenty pissed at me though.” Tommy touches his split lip and the wound above his left eye for further emphasis. Tokens given by his older brother, free of charge. The swelling has gone down and they’re less mean looking overall but still present and painful whenever he manages to forget about them. Which is often. 

“He’s always pissed at something. Needs a woman in his lif–Oh, Beth! We really enjoy the faux blueberry and cherry wreaths on your windows! I know we aren’t coming around to judge until Wednesday but I saw them the other day and I might ask you to make us one. You’re too dang creative and I’m the absolute worst when it comes to that stuff. Ask Tommy...he’ll tell you.” 

Tommy shrugs noncommittally and, “Now don’t go trappin’ me, woman. Maria here is real good at a lotta things, that’s what I know.” 

Beth laughs that hoarse, high pitched cackle of hers and flips a wave of amber as she pats Tommy on the flank of his arm.

“Fine man you got, Mrs Miller!” 

Maria chortles and teases a smile but it falters halfway; most days she doesn’t mind Beth’s bubbly, over the top antics but it is enough to wear on any soul if left to its own devices. 

It’s an act, of course, because the woman’s been surviving the last two and a half decades doing quite well for herself, all things considered. Just like everyone else that’s migrated and settled in Jackson through the years. Dangerously humane. 

“Mmmm. Fine yes, but full of shit,” Maria jokes, nudging an elbow into the center of her husband's chest playfully. The trio share a round of revelatory smiles as Maria and Tommy spot Joel, Ellie and Dina standing by the entranceway. Two-thirds of this company are ready for this interaction to come to a close. 

Beth follows their gaze and smiles as she hones in on the big man and his nutmeg winter wear, “How’s your brother doing, Tommy? He was pretty upset on Thursday.”

Maria’s eyes flash in a telling sort of manner as she shifts to gain a better angle of the man at her side while awaiting his rhetoric. 

“Joel’s good. I mean, my face took the brunt of his bein’ upset but it coulda been worse, I suppose.” 

“He’s a pretty intense man, huh? Guessing that news caught him off guard like the rest of us. What with him being — what was it you called it? — able-bodied and all.” Beth’s undivided lingers on Joel as she says this, a fuzzy-mitten brought close to her lips in contemplation.

“Mmhm. Intense is a word for Joel, sure. But he means well. Pain in my ass, but he’s alright.” Tommy studies Maria as she pinches her brow and partially rolls her eyes. Not at the comment in reference to Joel, Tommy knows, but rather Beth’s obvious attraction to the older Miller. 

“Well, I gotta get home. I’ll drop that berrycherry wreath off at your office sometime this week, too. Happy to make it for the Millers! Good chatting. Have a great Sunday!” With that, Beth Fleurs politely exits the conversation and the minuscule hall – but not before stopping by Joel on her way out. 

“Hey Joel! Hi Ellie, and is it...Diana? Right?” 

“It’s Dina. Hi Beth.”

Ellie’s jaw flexes as she mentally grinds her teeth into micro shivs; the bubbly blond is bounding into their conversation wholly uninvited and once again, she’s shamelessly clueless as to just how annoying she is. 

Joel tips his head forward a pitch and, “Ms Fleurs.” 

Beth giggles at that, actually giggles, and lightly grabs onto Joel’s bicep, “Beth, it’s just Beth. No need to stand on pomp with me.”

Joel snorts and dons an empty type of side smile, before angling himself far enough apart to ensure Beth’s grasp falls from him naturally. 

“So. I’m wondering if you have a few minutes to spare this morning, Joel? I have this nasty leak in my closet that’s been wreaking havoc from all this heavy snow. I know it’s last minute but I seem to remember in the summertime you volunteered for that construction crew and helped rebuild the row of houses off of Baker Lane. So maaaaybe I could borrow you? I have a couple bottles of beer and steak sandwiches in the fridge!” 

The woman is partially bouncing on the balls of her feet as she folds and unfolds her hands in an overtly anticipatory fashion. 

Joel looks sideways to Ellie and finds her features partly flush and sternly set; he’s about to feign regret and turn down the request when Dina links an arm to her friend and smiles, “Excuse us, you two. Ellie, I have that thing I wanted to talk to you about, remember?” 

_’Fuck.’_

Joel watches as the duo of younger women walk through the doors and out into the town, Ellie’s gait tense and stiff all the while. He watches a spell and thinks about jealousy before settling onto Beth once more. 

“Remodeled. I didn’t rebuild, I remodeled. You’re givin’ me far too much credit, Ms Fleurs.” 

The woman’s features start to gleam as she breaks into a flirty smile, eyes all blue-eyed and skin frost-nipped to match. “But you know what you’re doing, and I need a man who knows what he’s doing.” 

Joel swallows and paws at his cupid's bow, his hazels training onto the sopping-wet floor mats that everyone’s treading snow in and out on. 

“I do know, yes.” 

“So...you’ll help me?” 

“Sure. Leaks are bad news.”

††††

“Okay, we’re talking right now, you and me, Missy. Get your bony ass over here.”

Ellie hangs her winter coat onto its rack and spins to locate Dina sitting in the middle of the couch, both arms firmly folded across her chest. 

“I thought you were going home to sleep because you, and I quote, ‘feel like ass’...or was it ass-ish? I think it was both.”

Despite this, Ellie joins the girl and situates comfortably, leaning back, crossing her legs and shifting to her, “What’re we talking about?” 

“Joel.” 

Two sage eyes shoot away as a pair of unsteady hands begin to fidget with a throw pillow; she’s pulling on its fraying threads, untwisting the thick, soft fabric with every tug, pinch and roll between her worrisome fingers. 

“What about him?” 

“Ellie, look at me.” 

She does. 

“Did something happen at the Baldwin Mansion? You’ve been acting a little strange for the past week, ever since you cursed him out at the dance, actually.” 

The auburn-haired girl remains silent at first, wondering how much, or how little, she should reveal and what she wants to keep for herself. Not everything should be shared in one go, of that she’s absolutely certain. Still, it _is_ Dina and she trusts her implicitly. Dina would never betray her. 

Though, there was a time where she thought the same thing of Joel. 

The girl scratches the side of her cheek, sighs in resignation and, “Yes and...no. After that bullshit at the Winter Dance, I...well, I took off, left you there and came back home. But stopped at Joel’s first. He was outside playing his guitar with a cup of steaming coffee so he hadn’t been out there all that long. I think he was waiting on me, to be perfectly honest. The back door of his house isn’t really used as a back door so now that I think of it, yeah, he was definitely there on purpose so we could talk, that sneaky bastard. Anyway we did. Talk, I mean. About you and Jesse and Seth. But also...we started to clear the air between us. I can’t really go into too much detail about that part because it’s a long fucking story and God knows we are both too goddamn tired to do that right now but just know that I was sorry for what I did to him in front of everyone. Still cringe at that shit if I think about it too long.” 

Dina curls her legs beneath her lower half and leans in, “Okay. But how does that relate to you and him getting Clickered in at the Mansion?”

“Well, it’s kinda fucking stupid. After I left Joel’s porch and went to sleep, I had this insanely awful nightmare.” Ellie sighs and licks her lips as she searches for the right words to share this with someone other than Joel. It’s strange, weird and is pushing her slightly off her axis but she feels...ready. Maybe the more people that know about that nightly curse, the less power it will have over her in the long run. 

“A nightmare? Like...you had a bad dream?” Dina’s eyebrow’s peak at that but she rubs her knees and waits in lieu of speaking. 

“Yep. But it...to call it that makes it sounds like some childish bump in the night. It wasn’t that. It was–fuck. Dina, Joel was...he was brutally murdered in front of me. Like, his head was caved in, couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, just...k-killed in front of me.” Ellie stops and cups a hand to her mouth as the lucidity of that horror churns in her gut like a rotting afterthought. It’s a poison, a venom, an incurable illness that is returning tenfold to infect her. It was too soon to talk about it, too soon to share. 

She wants to flee to Joel’s, to see him and be seen by him. To hold and be held. Love and be loved. 

“Hey, hey, Ellie, are you alright?” Dina lifts herself onto her knees and leans into her friend, a hand on either one of Ellie’s cheeks.

“I’m...I can’t talk about that yet, I’m sorry. It’s too much. I know, I fucking _know_ it didn’t happen, that it’s not real, but something about it, something isn’t right still. I mean, up until today, I’ve been waking from panic attacks every time I go to sleep. Joel has to bring me out of it and I’m so fucking grateful for him but I know it’s a lot and he must think I’m crazy as well.” 

The girl stops and stares at the string of white lights behind her; she inhales and exhales as she plays with the green cord, rolling the plastic bulbs in between the pads of her fingers as she works to calm down. 

“You’ve been sleeping with Joel?” 

“What, no-we-I… what?” Ellie’s eyes dart and focus solely onto Dina’s, but there’s no judgement or consequence living in those rich pools of color. There’s just companionship and curiosity. 

“You said, ‘Joel brings you out of it,’ after mentioning that you’ve been screaming awake every time since that first go around with the dream. I’m just wondering if that means you two have been spending your nights in bed together, which is what it sounds like. AND it’d make sense, given everything that's been happening. At least everything that I’ve seen.” 

There’s a pause that lingers on in the hollow space that separates them, it stretches and snaps and returns to cycle anew the longer these women sit in their silence. 

Finally, the girl with raven hair cuts into the mounting quiet, “Ellie, I’m not judging you, or him. I’m trying to understand. I want to help you, too, ya know. If I can.” 

Ellie’s shoulders fall as she sinks into the serene waters of her friend’s unconditional support; it moves her, allows a respite for her to seat properly into the right place to share what is on her heart. It’s why she’s always liked Dina, why she knows she loves her and always will. No matter how that affection has or may change, one thing will remain resolute. 

“Yes. Most nights were at his house. And then Baldwin was...well that’s part of what I can’t fucking manage because I’m stupidly incapable of getting through it without wanting to literally fucking die _because_ of it. So later for that one.” 

Dina reaches for Ellie’s hand by the string of twinkling lights and holds onto it, “And last night? He stayed here, didn’t he?” 

Her head tilts a few degrees as Ellie ruminates on Dina’s words and tries to discover just how she’s arrived to that conclusion. Joel wouldn’t have shared such a thing with anyone let alone Dina but besides that, the only opportunity he might have had was when the pair were outside of the garage before church. Would he have mentioned their sleepover in passing conversation? Surely not. 

“How did you know? Did Joel tell you?” 

Dina laughs at that, a throaty, belly-bouncing kind and Ellie’s eyebrows arch in an animatedly, stupefying sort of way. 

“Did _JOEL_ tell me he slept in your bed last night? Joel-, as in, barely speaks unless he absolutely has to-Joel Miller? That same Joel?” 

Ellie slaps the other woman’s knee lightheartedly and bobs her head, “Okay, okay. Fair. But seriously, how did you know then? And what did you and him talk about today before knocking on my door?”

“Well someone’s being nosey now aren’t we? Kidding, kidding. Don’t give me that look, Williams. I might just smooch you again. But anyway, I saw him walking to your door last night after Jesse and I left. He must have thought everyone went home because it quieted down in here. Said he chanced a visit to see if you were doing okay, ‘to check in on her,’ were his exact words. He seemed a little embarrassed at first, like he’d been caught red-handed. Which, in hindsight, of course, is what led me to put two and two together.” 

Ellie’s lips purse and smack as she processes this rush of new information. It wasn’t much but it was enough, revealing in its own way and likely the reason for Joel and Dina’s conversation a few hours ago – a rarity if ever there was one. 

“Well you’re a regular fucking detective, Dina Pereria. Putting it all together right under our snoots and us, none the wiser. Not that we were or are sneaking around with anything. It’s not like th–” 

“Oh don’t you start lying now, Ellie. You’ve told me just enough but thankfully this big brain in my beautiful head was able to fill in the rest. So okay, you can’t and don’t want to talk about the dream – I get that. But let me ask you this, and maybe you honestly don’t know yet, but...are you-is there _more_ going on with you two? Maybe I’m mixing my signals but he said something in passing today that I thought was pretty damn interesting…”

“What’d he say?” 

Dina chews on her bottom lip as she considers her friend; Ellie’s not answering most of what she’s prompting but that’s not wholly out of style for this girl. She knows her best friend well. Knows when to push and when to pull back. Still, despite this knowledge, she’s forging ahead. 

“You first.” 

“Dammit.” 

“Mmhm.” 

Ellie gathers her limbs and mimics the position of the company beside her; she cracks her neck, her knuckles and blows out a few lungfuls of air. 

“Yes. There is. But I don’t know what IT is yet. When I do, I promise to tell you.” 

Dina’s eyes flash with realization – Detective P is on the case again. “That’s who you were talking about when I asked you if you ‘liked him,’ last night, wasn’t it? It’s not Liam, it’s Joel.” 

Ellie shrinks a measure but nods her head, “You can’t tell anyone anything, please. It’s...it’s so complicated and nothing’s _really_ happened yet and I have no clue what the fuck he would even want – I mean with anyone else knowing anything. No, never mind. I do know, he wouldn’t like it. He’s intensely private. Too damn private, but that’s his way. So, lips are SEALED, okay? You have questions, you come to me and me only.” 

Dina throws each of her hands up, palms out in mock surrender, “Jeez, don’t worry, alright? You know I’ll never say a word about this to anyone. Just you.” 

There’s another pregnant pause that visits after their trust is solidified and it’s Ellie who chances a backtrack. 

“Your turn. What did he say earlier that’s got you so intrigued and sniffing out the right trails and shit?” 

Dina smiles and pulls her hair free from the elastic band that’s collecting it; she plays with it a beat, fluffs it up and turns her head this way and that before, “Oh, he didn’t. I just knew I had to throw some bread crumbs down to get you talking to me.” 

Ellie’s jaw falls open as those words hit home, “You son of a bitch. You trapped me! What kinda crap...” 

Dina tosses the other throw pillow to her friend's face and wiggles her very dark, very pronounced brows, “Gotcha.”

††††

After another hour spent talking – in regards to Ellie’s feelings and her tendencies towards jealousy and of what the result of this situation could be, insofar as worrisome complications – Dina did eventually leave; the hangover was too beastly a burden and it was becoming difficult for the girl to focus on the details. They made tentative plans to see each other for a quick nightcap after shift the following day but until then, Dina made it clear she and her mattress were to be unified.

Ellie does a quick clean of her living space, changes into an aging set of flannel bottoms and one of Joel’s button-ups before situating at the desk. She sits and retrieves her journal, pads and picks at the worn leather while suspending there for a moment; the girl breathes a sigh of relief now that she’s finally alone and has time enough to focus, write and sketch. To tell the stories and try to make sense of a heart that’s beneath miles of ocean water – to write of her fears, doubts, and hesitations. Of her resolve, love and desires. 

The girl is not verbose by any means, but when she indulges the movements of her mind and allows lyrics and raw imagery to see themselves through her, what’s often remaining is a gratifying experience. 

This time should be no different. 

_Joel._

_My heart is a tempest  
Full of sound and ~~bright~~ color  
Is it ~~him~~ you?  
Is this real?_

_The softness of your dangerous ~~hazels~~ arms  
Hold onto me  
The thunder of your submerged heart  
Keep me safe from the storms_

_Will I break beneath these crashing waves?  
Will you break me again?_

As she begins to lazily draw a few pieces of the man on her mind – of his face, his hands and what she’s come to learn of his body – she considers all that’s led her to these musings. 

The Winter Dance and their conversation afterwards. How the soft sound of his music met her furor and didn’t waver in its stead. She winces at how that could have been their last time ever speaking together. 

But of course, and thankfully, it wasn’t. 

The nightmare arrived next like a ghoulish kiss that was slowly meant to kill her. It was followed immediately by all those nights of cocooning limbs and lungs, each vying to memorize the new cadence of being in the others’ arms. 

After was the Mandate and its subsequent fist fight with Tommy. The droplets of blood in a bowl of salmon water. Then the way he all but begged her to stay — ‘please don’t go.’ She wonders on what it felt like to witness Joel Miller kneel in front of her and lay himself so beautifully bare. The image of it strikes across her lined pages like a brilliant euphoria igniting the night sky. 

Then the Mansion, the return of that visceral, crippling horror, a planet-shattering kiss and her first sexual awakening. She twitches as she feels his touch on her still, how every part of her person was set ablaze as he gripped and directed her body in a way she didn’t know she was able to move. A white-hot liquid fire coursed through her blood at his experienced actions, eliciting a feral hunger and a desire for the moment to never see its end. 

But it did end. He ended it. But the whole night wasn’t a total loss. 

At the grandiose lodge there were also inappropriate jokes, delightful surprise peaches, and a divisive, definitive argument. Highs and lows. So many ups and downs have been shared between her and him over the last five years. She believes it’d be unnerving if she wasn’t so accustomed to it by now. Maybe it’s just their way. 

Ellie stops, lets her pencil linger beyond that last sentiment as she focuses on that night; not the basement and not to the way she nearly had him unbuckled and seen herself undone by his lips and sounds and hands, no. Instead she magnifies the actual _night_ and the way Joel held her in front of the expansive fireplace. 

It had felt different – he felt different. He wasn’t standoffish like she originally thought he might be with her, what with them having to abruptly cease their passionate make out session followed by an outright lie in her not wanting kids shortly thereafter. Though she doesn’t suspect he realizes her subversion about that last part of their talk. 

A cascading shelf of regret and shame floods her belly, immediately replacing the warmth of that nighttime recollection with icy disappointment. It hurts that she’s been untruthful to him, that after all their time apart and all the punishment she dolled for his monumental betrayal, she’s now no better than he was. 

She grips tight to the book and hastily sketches a self-portrait, assesses it and scowls; Ellie grabs a pen from its cup holder, breaks it half and dribbles a few droplets of ebony ink over her lying, inanimate eyes – everything on the paper becomes blurry. 

Flipping the page, she smooths it with the heels of her palms, blotting and scattering the midnight color to disfigure her deceitful features.

As the wet pool of black seeps through the top page and up onto her skin, she lifts her pencil and scribbles on the opposite side of the book: 

_I want what I shouldn’t want  
What I know you ~~can’t~~ won’t give  
I see them, I see all of them  
Black, red, green, hazel  
What could be  
Who could be _

_My heart vibrates to the tune of your chords  
Your sound is golden, like ~~sunlight~~ sunbursting gradients _

_My lips are untrustworthy_  
My lies are fetid  
Please don’t ever go 

A tear snakes its way down Ellie’s cheek, leaving its scales behind long enough for it to bear the weight of its dishonor; she brushes it aside, accidentally transferring an ugly ink stain to her pale skin but it’s no matter. She doesn’t care, can’t care. 

Of all the things she was looking forward to writing and reveling in today — things she’s long been needing to sort through, acknowledge and understand — it’s her falsities that reign supreme. She longs for a return, to scream at herself as though she were outside looking in at the performance of a lifetime. She wants to go to Joel and share the truth in all of its scary, magnificent glory: That she is ready to experience and share all that they can and hopes to be the one worthy enough. 

“Clearly you’re worthy of shit, you fucking liar.” 

She slams the journal closed and angles in her seat, a sigh of sheer frustration and woe easing from her trembling mouth. The chair squeals and whines under her weight, just as it always does and it feels like the business end of a cruel joke: Fixing things that need fixing, even the simplest of tasks, has never been her best play. 

Joel is the one who fixes and sets right. He’s the one who knows how they can move past this – despite the fact that he knows nothing of it yet. 

Joel. 

She wonders if he’s home, hoping that shrill woman left him at the church and went about her day. Ellie grumbles at Dina and how her friend all but dragged her away from him – basically inviting Beth into Joel’s bedroom. 

“Maybe a little dramatic, Williams. Cool it.” 

She wants to leave and go to his house, check if he’s there and if so, if he’s busy or not. Maybe ask to watch a movie together before dinner prep...maybe he’ll even allow her to help with dinner prep this week. As she spins round and round on her screeching metal stool, she decides she can’t wait a second more. They’ve been waiting and apart for years and she doesn’t want time – or another lie – to steal a single moment that isn’t theirs. 

Ellie wants to tell him the truth, too, to lay it all bare and move forward in whatever way they’re able. Will gladly accept whatever recompense may come, in spite of the nagging fear that’s gathering in the farthest reaches of her thoughts. 

A fear that tells her it might not be as simple as that.

††††

“Thank you for all your help, Joel! I know you’ll be swinging over sometime later to actually fix it but even checking the damage brings peace of mind, you know?”

Joel nods but stays resolutely quiet. The wind is whipping the exposed cartilage of his ears and he’s having a hell of a time concentrating on anything beyond the sting of that. He didn’t want Beth walking him home either; surely the man didn’t ask or need it, but she mentioned a visit to the greenhouses and with his place on the way, “Why not share a few more moments of company in the cold?” 

He doesn’t dislike the woman, not really, but her obviousness towards him is off-putting more frequently than not. 

Once they’re by the stairs to the front of his house, Beth studies it and notes the stunning lack of Christmas decor, “So, I’m making a holiday wreath for your brother and sister in law, would you like one?” 

Joel snorts and bounces on his heels as his extremities grow cold while standing static in the snow, “Oh, uh. Ellie an’ me are plannin’ on decoratin’ tomorrow. I think we’ve got enough in storage to do the trick. Wouldn’t wanna put you out.” 

Beth turns to face him and smiles – a real smile this time and not one that’s dripping with people-pleasing sweetness. It’s different for her and not all that unpleasant. 

She links to his forearm and hangs there a spell longer than she should, “It’s no trouble at all, Joel. But hey, if you change your mind, or you run out of decorations, you know where to find me.”

A wink after that. 

At the conclusion of her overly flirtatious sentiments, another young woman jogs the last leg of the wintry street’s curve and waves at Fleurs, “Hey, Beth! On the way to Charles’?” 

Beth spins and greets the younger girl, eyes brimming with mirth and friendliness as her veil slips back into place.

“Oh, hi Abby! I was just offering my thanks to Joel here for taking a look at that nasty leak. You know, the one in my upstairs closet. But yep, on the way to Greenhouse five for my weekly pickup. You’re sure Charles is on duty today? I didn’t see him at service.” 

Joel smiles between the women and notes his exit, “Well, I best be on my way. Too cold for my blood.” Joel slinks far enough apart to indicate that he’s leaving, his muted hazels dropping to the frozen earth as he does this. 

The other stands beside Beth and watches Joel out of the corner of her eyes; she nods politely but her jaw tightens ever-so. Neither Joel nor Beth notice this. 

“Joel, is it? Hey, I’m Abby. New in town. Good to meet you. And yeah, it’s too damn frosty up in these mountains.” 

He laughs, clicks his tongue and grins, “Hmph, that it is. Nice to meet you, and welcome to Jackson. Now if y'all excuse me. Have a fine day, ladies.”

††††

Ellie squeezes the frame of her doorway until Beth and her companion walk off – it’s the same girl who was laughing and singing with Fleurs at the Bison last night. The same girl that feels...wrong somehow.

She frowns. 

There’s a chasm forming in the darkest spaces of her heart; glimpsing Joel with Beth was upsetting on its own but it wasn’t the only weight that sees her sinking into the depths of despair. No, these anchors that have been unceremoniously cast into the murky waters below also bear the appearance of this stranger. This person she’s now noted twice in less than twenty-four hours and is none the wiser about. Doesn’t know her name, doesn’t know her place or where she’s come from. Only that she’s here and feels familiar in a multitude of crooked and suspicious ways. 

Despite these banging echoes of jealousy and thundering booms of warning, Ellie's confusion is leaving her incapable of speaking with Joel at present. She needs to placate her nerves, sort through these weird emotions and find reason amidst the illogical swarms in her head. To avoid drastic measures and unintentionally strife – for her and for...others. 

The girl takes a last lingering gander at the empty sidewalks and Joel’s house and steps into her garage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the post installment notes time! I secretly love these because I feel like I get to spend just a few more moments interacting with you lovely readers and in a year where social media/online counts for the majority of our interactions, it just warms the ticker (I'm not that old to be saying this, I really am not). 
> 
> **But let's dive in!**
> 
> • Joel is a horny hottie and I will never ever stop paying into that headcanon. I will always try to balance the story/plot with spicy moments, but from here on out, expect a little bit of heat from our favorites on the regular.  
> • Which brings me to Ellie...who is arguably needier than Joel, if that's even possible – only, she's sort of new to this world. She's tuning into her desires more and more as the chapters go on...but she certainly needed that release. Here's hoping it wasn't gratuitous (even if it was, I pray it was hot enough to suffice).  
> • And Tommy and Joel...I absolutely believe that Tommy would be the one to break the ice with his brother whenever it comes to disagreements or physical altercations such as the one that happened in this fic. So it was a no surprise that he turned up at Joel's...doors...looking to make peace. That last comment though – what're the married Millers up to? Hmm.  
> • Dina and Joel talking, Joel catching Ellie and damn near busting a nut in the backyard, and then Dina, Joel and Ellie walking together to the church. I wonder if a certain older, gruff, emotionally stunted man is trying to ingratiate himself into the woman of his dreams' life? Hmm.  
> • Oh, Beth. Fucking Beth.  
> • DINA KNOWS! Sorta. Something, a little. How we feeling about this fam? (I may be too old to be saying this.)  
> • Ellie finally having time to herself didn't work out too well, did it? Even when she has a free moment to ruminate and pour through it all, she lands on the one thing that undoes all that brilliant brain power.  
> • Joel, Beth, Abby. That's all. That's all I can say. 
> 
> **Few little things:**
> 
> • Baker Lane was of course named after Troy Baker who voices Joel Miller (I've no doubt everyone knows this but just in case).  
> • Dina didn't have a last name, so I gave her one: Pereria – of Jewish origins and means "pear tree." I liked this given how much she longed for life on a farm and living off the land in Part II. Hopefully this is suitable to be a part of your headcanon's now! 
> 
> And that's chapter 9!! We are only SEVEN days into this world of Joel and Ellie – how's it going for everyone? Long story is long, remember. ;) 
> 
> AS ALWAYS T H A N K • Y O U !! I am forever blown away and humbled and when I say I never expect anything on a week to week basis – I mean that. You're the bread to my butter, the flap to my jacks. Many, many thanks and I hope everyone is staying safe and sound in the din of this wild year. xx
> 
> \--- 
> 
> PS. Because it's Thanksgiving week, I'll be slow to reply to comments BUT I WILL COMMENT come Friday/the weekend! Thanks for all the amazing feedback <3 xx


	10. & Cataclysmic Implosion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The nightmare rears its ugly head on the heels of Ellie's suspicions of who that new girl may be. Luckily Joel has impeccable timing and a whole lot of patience (and more) for Ellie. Then there's the Sunday night dinner, some awkward conversation, a little Christmas decorating moment and our favorites finally get a little bit closer to one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay...so...I'm maybe a little bit of a minx and hot for Joel 24/7 and MAYBE that translated into this chapter. Either way, I hope it's just the right amount of spice to see you through to the next. 
> 
> As usual, more notes at the close! x

_The medical clinic has a place. It’s this forbidden realm of shadow and waste in the underbelly of all hospital and triage centers. A dark corner where few venture — a black hole that’s nothing more than a sequestered room bearing a steel door. A foreboding blockade to separate the living world from those that have recently departed._

_It’s not a scary place, at least not necessarily, but it’s not welcoming either. It’s the last stop before the last stop. Before the earth swallows the lifeless and returns its kin to the celestial void that sings the song of the lost._

_“Joel.”_

_Ellie stands on the other side of this light, her eyes stinging, sore and on the verge of cataclysmic implosion. She stares blankly at the brushed steel, memorizes its dents, dings and inevitable fatigue. Studies the mallet strikes and the filthy smudges of unclean hands that turn the handle up and down, up and down, with every entry, with every exit._

_She knows he’s in there. Knows he’s alone, cold and farther away from her than he’s ever been. Even in the days before they knew one another, he was still closer to her than he is now._

_A boiling bead of saline drops woefully across pallor flesh.  
A pair of sage eyes close, sparing themselves a moment of baseless respite.  
Warm air pushes through graying lips and widening nostrils.  
Panic is beginning to set in. _

_“You don’t have to do this, Ellie.”_

_The voice is nearby but watery, unclear; it’s a muffle that’s originating from somewhere by her right side. There’s a soft depression on her forearm to match, a pressure that tells of its owner's close proximity, of its owner's care, but for all she can comprehend, this other might as well be on the moon. Everything and everyone is so far away now. Swept out to sea once the tsunami had run its course._

_The girl steps forward, frees herself from the grip of her passenger and touches her palms to the thin veil between heartbeats and heartbreak. She pushes weakly and exhales a great expulsion of disbelief._

_All the world begins to slow, to grind itself to the finest grain as a bubble of bile crests in her throat; Ellie gags and drops her clammy forehead against the steel door to calm and settle as best she can manage. Still, she allows herself to feel the impact of the burn as it sears her innards, to imbibe the fire that’s stripping away a viral stain that looks and tastes like ash. She coughs, gasps and cries out, woefully helpless to the gravitational well that has her in its orbit. That’s tearing her apart at the seams the longer it lures the very atoms that make her._

_It’s as though the spinning top of time and Ellie herself are on the precipice of a tragic collapse. Two dying things in the presence of the only thing that’s actually died._

_She moves reticently along with this languid, murky passage, trying to deny all the evidence to the contrary. For herself, for her soul. For him, too, maybe._

_‘This isn’t real. I’m not here. You’re not in there. We’re not apart, not like this. Not like this.’_

_But the mind is only able to refuse the truth for so long. A truth that smells like formaldehyde and homemade bleach._

_Of blood and saliva._

_Ellie reaches for the metallic handle and presses down down down — holds it there. She’s lingering in the breadth of reality and unreality, pausing a measure more than she should but shorter than she wishes._

_“Ellie, don-“_

_“I have to. He would.”_

_She enters at that last and sees the gurney. Sees only his gurney and a blackness black all around him. It’s as if he were floating, suspended above the burning husk of broken promises and shameful regret. It’s Ellie’s summit he wavers upon, her mountain to climb to reach him. Fresh wounds of which will never heal._

_Inside, she stumbles upwards at that, ready to ascend, ready to find him again. It’s useless in the here and now, though._

_She looks again and wonders how many others have laid on that rolling aluminum plank before and decides she doesn’t care for those dead or their scars and the ones left to fend for themselves. She only cares for Joel._

_That it’s now and always Joel’s Gurney. His and his alone. Thinks idly if the thing — if THAT exact one — was always bound to him, to be the object that keeps Joel in the interim state between this place and whatever comes next. Whatever has come already._

_There’s a white sheet laying over top of him, but it’s slick with a color so deep, so vivid, that it seems more black than red. She knows what it is; knows that the wider stains by his severed right leg and his mutilated head are laying bare his hurt, his suffering. She winces._

_There’s too many parts of him that show the ruins of his last moments. But the scene is...not right._

_In fact, it’s all wrong. He shouldn’t be bleeding still. He can’t be bleeding still. It’s been hours and hours. He’s been gone far too long for that to be happening._

_She walks farther into the tomb and rakes her nails to the cloth – it’s soaking wet. Ellie fervently sucks for air as a whine tears itself from the hollow tunnels of her bones at this discovery._

_“No, no. Who’s hurting you still?”_

_A fervor steals into her and she yanks the covering from him in a hasty move, tossing it carelessly onto the floor. It’s so heavy and weighed down; it lands in a loud heap atop scuffled tile to a cacophony of wet sounds and one final, sickly smack as it settles. There it will stay. There it will rot and fester and disintegrate._

_She turns away from the shroud and then he’s there – dead._

_She sees his crimson and tan winter coat and the splattered blue scarf, his stained leather gloves and tattered blue jeans. His marred brown boots and faded brown belt and a hazel eye that’s no longer a mossy caramel but a ghostly gray._

_The leaked remnants on his person appear dry and cakey and there’s a solace to that: he’s not seeping, leaking, and losing it anymore in waves of antagonizing scarlet. What’s done is done for him. He’s given all he’s got and then some._

_‘But why was the sheet so...soaked?’_

_Ellie places a hand onto his belly, her palm going flat to a spot that shows fewer signs of his torture and demise._

_“Hi.”_

_Silence._

_“It’s me.”_

_Silence._

_She edges in closer and closer, until her abdomen is flush with one of his hips. Connection._

_“I wanted to see you before they…I just wanted to see you again. Before, ya know?”_

_Silence._

_Ellie shifts and moves higher up his flank, while angling over him slightly. She’s seen his head and touched it enough to know the sight of it will never ever leave her memory. It haunts and will always haunt her: All his swollen, misshapen parts that Joel has no need for anymore._

_This isn’t her Joel._

_She’s not afraid to touch him though. Not afraid to feel how heavy this loss is, either. No, what she’s afraid of is to forget. Afraid to spend the rest of her days without him. To live a life without Joel is to live a half life, if any at all. She’s keenly aware of this now._

_There’s a clear and distinct murmuring to this truth and it stabs at her; he wouldn’t want this, wouldn’t want her to languish in sorrow and shame. She knows as much but is blatantly disregarding it, on account of grief or selfishness, she’s uncertain._

_But he’s not here anymore. All that he wanted, all that he longed for and tried so desperately to keep and protect is now none of his concern._

_The girl swallows and slides her hands along his body; she touches his pockets and grabs fistfuls of fabric as she roams unimpededly. As she goes, her dirty nails catch on the square emblem on this coat he loved – the coat that will burn like the rest of his soiled clothing. She thinks on that for a spell and an instant vehemence surges inside; she doesn’t want any part of his to be taken away and trashed, no matter how destroyed it may be, no mind to how gory._

_Her breath hitches as a whirring noise disturbs the disquiet in her head all of a sudden. It’s the cooling unit, of course. She doesn’t want him to hear that though, doesn’t want him to drown in this forgotten sea of darkness and inhuman machinations. He deserves more, deserves the familiarity of those he loved and those who loved him in equal measure._

_Ellie bows herself as she brings her lips to his unsplit ear. She stills herself, gains whatever modicum of control she can rouse and, “Can you hear me? I’m with you, Joel. You’re not alone. Don’t listen to that, okay? Just listen to me.”_

_Silence._

_She focuses onto his beard afterwards and embarrassingly hesitates; he’s so broken, so disfigured and dead that she doesn’t know if this really is Joel Miller. A infinitesimal seed of hope blooms in her belly at the notion – that this may be some sick practical joke to earn her favor again. She will wallop this man in a way he’s never known if that turns out to be the case._

_But it’s not the case, as it were._

_It’s a futile denial, a wasteful, tasteless stave against the impenetrable passing of time; it’s been many seconds, endless minutes, and bottomless hours since he’s left her without so much as a parting word. Aside from his screams – of which ceased the moment she fell onto the frozen floor of that hellfucked basement – there was nothing more he could say._

_She touches him anyways, knowing the seducing pip is nothing more than that – a lie, an apple plucked from the forbidden garden in her mind. She won’t bite. He wouldn’t want her to._

_Anger floods, filling her with blind furor from all the hollow spaces inside to the apex of her skull._

_“Tell me who she was, Joel. I need to find her. I can’t...this isn’t done. She’s gonna pay.”_

_Silence._

_This quiet is an overwhelming burden, a hint from his side of the grave, or soon to be grave. It’s too much. All that remains is the machine that hums within this cursed space and its dry, icy air; it’s starting to chill her – this place, this moment, this man loose of the beautiful soul that made him. She wants to warm him, to keep him from freezing to death now that he’s gone._

_To protect him from the beyond, yes, but to feel his warmth as well. She always loved how he ran a little hotter than most._

_She lays her head to his chest and loops both arms around his waist. Clutches, clings, embraces. Pushes an ear down as hard as she can to the spot directly above his heart._

_There’s only that permanent silence still._

_Until there’s not._

_“Eh...El...lie.”_

_“Joel?”_

_She lifts in shock to find his eyes looking down at her – both of them instead of just the one that remained intact after his ordeal. Feels those big hands cradle her head as his mouth emits a push of steam. He’s trying to speak. He’s come back and he’s trying to speak._

_She can only imagine how hard this must be, what with his lips grotesquely split in half, his jaw dislocated and partially hanging loose. Not to mention the feral chasm cutting across his forehead that’s somehow still widening. This is an insurmountable feat he’s up against but Ellie knows Joel. Knows his resolve._

_Regardless, she can’t help but cry as she watches in silence, as she stares in horror at the scene that’s unfolding: There’s blood seeping from his broken mouth, blood dripping from his lacerated nose and bloody tears falling from his eyes; the whites of which are filling with red the harder he tries to talk to her._

_A reaper named Gravity is taking its due._

_Ellie waits and waits, grips his wrists tighter and cries more, but says nothing all the while._

_It feels like a millennia is passing between them as she suspends herself between the living and its afterlife. Wonders not for the first time if she’s dead herself._

_Finally, fleetingly, Joel speaks._

_“Win-ter Da-nce.”_

_“Winter Dance?”_

_“El...lie.”_

_“Joel! Winter Dance? What does tha–”_

_“...Ell...ie.”_

††††

“You said Ellie would be here for dinner, right?” Tommy fidgets with a scab on his lower lip and winces after picking at the healing skin; the sting of his wound comes with a reminder of the divide he once had with his brother some years back. During a time when he didn’t know if Joel was alive or dead or anywhere in between. Those were long, dark days spent nearly a country apart, his worry always present despite how angry he may have been towards the older man.

“Mmhm. She said as much.” Joel takes a peek at the clock on the wall and sighs, rubs his knees and emits an exasperating sort of grumble. Not annoyance, not _not_ annoyance either. 

Maria rejoins them then, coming back from the downstairs washroom to settle beside her husband on the sofa. She looks between the brothers, eyes reading more than any of the words they’re not saying, “If you’re talking about Ellie, I can go check on her. See what the hold up is.” 

Joel rises, scratches at the base of his hairline, cracks a few of his knuckles and nods, “Nah, I’ll do it. Gimme a few.” 

“It’s no trouble, Joel. You and Tommy can chat while I’m gone.” Maria’s trying to open a cordial discourse between the men, trying valiantly at that, but the results have little to no effect – which she should have expected. 

“Appreciate it. But I’m sure he an’ I will chat plenty this evenin’ so for now…” 

He leaves mid-sentence, thoughts a mess of why his girl is almost thirty minutes late and if something went wrong and why didn’t he think to check sooner and is she okay? He muses over and over on a plethora of possibilities – each more worrisome than the last – until he’s standing at her entrance. 

It’s soundless all around, including her garage, and with it is a wicked absence of light: There appear to be none switched on in her house. Not even the outside bulb is on – an immediate cause for concern. 

He knocks tentatively and holds his fist to the aging wood. 

Silence. 

Knocks again. 

Silence again. 

The worry is mounting, his breaths coming short and fast. This isn’t normal, not for her. Even in their separation, even from the meager distance between their homes, her routines and habits didn’t change all that much. Lights went on at sundown. Simple, reassuring. Whether she had done it for him or for her own sense of normalcy, he’ll never know and he’ll never ask. 

Which is why his heart is in his throat at this odd lack of a nightly practice. He entertains the idea that she finally left him for good – that the past week was a farce, an imagination of a mind so starving for _something,_ for anything from this girl that it took to conjuring...all that it conjured. 

He gulps the guilt, squeezes the wooden frame on either side of his person and, “Ellie?” 

His mouth is practically part of the door as he speaks her name measuredly; he doesn’t want to raise his voice and trigger any alarms in the way of his brother and sister-in-law hearing. The last thing they need — he and Ellie — are questions about seemingly innocuous, or just plain forgetful, behavior. From a nineteen year old nonetheless. 

A nineteen year old. Joel shakes his head and pushes the thought away as fast as it came to him. 

He knocks again, albeit less soft than the first go around; his subconscious mind is taking the helm of this wayfaring vessel before it runs aground. 

“Ellie, it’s me. You in there, girl?” 

He turns the knob just enough to test the thing and discovers it’s locked. 

_’Fuck.’_

He knows she only slips the bolt over if she’s gone for shift work or is in for the evening. But with the lights extinguished and it being Sunday evening he has no idea what to make of any of this.

Urgency and rationalizations begin to mix and merge as he reasons that it’s unlikely she would go back on her word, and so quickly at that. Their last two years notwithstanding. He swallows, gazes around the snowy yard and shivers a spell. 

He’s wearing his coat but didn’t take the time to zip it up — he didn’t think this would be whatever it is turning into. 

His mistake. 

“Ellie.” Joel’s voice is firm, booming even, but still willfully reserved given the increase in panic; he doesn’t want to break in — that would breach the fragile trust they’re rebuilding. He also doesn’t want to go off the deep end either. After all, she could have reasonably forgotten and made other plans in the interim. 

But the porch light is off...

As he’s about to turn away, both begrudgingly resigned and justifiably rattled, he hears a shuffling from the opposite end of her living space. The outside light goes on and is followed by the creaky clangs of a deadbolt slipping against raw wood – it’s an orchestra of sound and light that has him all but smiling. 

And then she’s there. 

And in his arms. 

“Fuck. You’re okay? You’re okay.” 

Ellie pulls Joel into the unlit garage one backpedaling step at a time and blindly shoves the door shut behind him. It latches with a noisy bang but its echoes are drowned by the wintry night that’s spreading all around them. Beyond this sphere of Just Them there lies everything else. 

“What?” 

He holds onto her, buries his nose to the crook of her neck as a very fluid form of peace pours into him. 

“Let me see you…” Her breaths are uneven and fitful, eyes shining as black as the flat ice on all the neighborhood roads. He glimpses half moons of silver light catch and reflect every once and again, but she’s too wily and wiry to make out any more than that. 

She reaches for his throat, paws at his beard, his lips, cheeks and ears before marrying her fingers into the thick forest of his chilled hair. Her fingernails drag along his scalp as she moves and he instinctively closes his eyes. It shouldn’t feel this good, not now especially, but it does. 

He knows then what this is. Should have known all along. 

“Reckon you had the nightmare?” 

She nods and he can feel as much but it’s not good enough, “Baby?” 

“Mmhm, yeah. Fucker was a real bad one, too.” Ellie lags against his chest as she works to steady her air intake; an ear listens for the affirmations that lay beneath his breastbone that make it all okay, that return her to the only reality that she’ll ever need. 

“An’ here I thought we was in the clear after last night.” Joel keeps her to him, an arm wrapping to her while the other holds her to his chest. He closes his eyes and relaxes in tandem; she wasn’t hurt, she didn’t leave. Everything is good. Minus the terror. 

They stand connected, swaying slightly in each other’s embrace and blissfully unaware of the world outside her weathered garage door. 

After her hands and her hearing have had their charge, she tilts and gazes north, “Hey.” 

His belly flexes as a laugh rolls through and after, he kisses her forehead. With his lips still pressing to the soft, warm skin, Joel smiles and, “Hi.” 

“You knocking and your signature _’Ellie’_ woke me from that bullshit again, by the way. Though, it was worse this time. Different, too. Wasn’t in the basement.” 

“Oh?” 

“...Jackson’s morgue.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah, oh.” 

Joel pulls away but keeps his lower half as it is – leaving them together while giving him space enough to do what’s needed. He slips a hand along the side of her throat and cups her face, angles her just-so to ensure that even in this absence of light, she’s seeing him, “I’m right here, baby. It wasn’t real. We’re together an’ I’m holding’ on to you.” 

The girl sighs as she sinks into the calm, rhythmic cadence of his deep voice, permits herself to fall into its bottomless depths end over end. It’s the smooth Texas twang that fills and reminds her of how even the most basic truths to this man are made all the more beautiful somehow. 

A flash of crimson and a shattered mouth steals into her, returning from that terrorizing nightworld; it forces the young woman to seek his solid ground before submerging too far down. 

She winces from the disturbing imagery but is steadily regaining her handle on things; with Joel the trials are made less arduous. 

“I-I know. But you...you woke up, Joel.” Ellie sucks on her bottom lip and grabs his wrist, squeezes, pulls and holds firm for a spell. A tremor works its way from tip to toe as she tries to settle the fervency that's heating all the cavities of her aching chest. 

“I...what?” 

She swallows and nods, “Come with me?” 

Ellie separates from the man and makes towards her mattress; they do this part in silence, but despite the short distance, she holds tight to his hand all the while. Once there, Ellie twists the knob on the table’s oil lamp and watches, mesmerized, as its glow splashes the space with a pure kind of warmness. It paints the room in a symphony of amber and yellow, lengthening their shadows and deepening the stark contrasts of what lies beyond this illumination and what lies within it. 

Ellie focuses on that, on this soulful sort of warmth, and how his fingers intertwining with hers feels exactly the same right now. Joel is her warmth. 

As the lamp gives its best and offers more of her to him, Joel notices then that she’s only partially dressed – though he’s come to know that quite well from their past week together. 

It’s what she always wears whenever she sleeps: A pair of panties with a mismatching tank or ratty top to go along with it. Simple and wildly sexy to him. 

He grins – the tee she’s wearing is one he found for her years ago during a shift patrol with Tommy and Jesse. The thing was neatly folded, albeit dusty from years of neglect, and sitting on a lacquered, stickered countertop in an old mall store. The shop was best known for selling grungey apparel with odd trinkets and weed paraphernalia to boot – all of which held little interest to him. But that Savage Starlight shirt, with a Captain Daniela design to be specific, was just lying there, for all to see. For him to find. 

So, of course he snagged the thing for her, summarily stuffing it into his backpack and never uttering a single word about it. This was much to the chagrin of the others, who teased and taunted Joel the whole journey back to Jackson that evening. Joel didn’t care one bit for any of that nonsense and even if he had, it wouldn’t have mattered; the second he saw the happiness in those emeralds, everything else was just noise. 

Still, discovering that shirt on her is one thing — and it pleases him to know she’s kept it all this time — but that’s not the sole point of his focus: It’s her current choice of underwear that’s sucking the last vestiges of his inner resolve. 

He looks on as he ruminates as to just why she’s wearing something so… _that_. Ellie’s undergarments are, for the most part, normal – normal in the sense that they have one job to do and they do it well. Minus the lacy pair she revealed during her drunken outpouring, the sight of which he’ll use in his next vivid fantasy when his cock is in his hand and his balls are throbbing. 

Joel clears his throat and readjusts his posture; last night was hard enough to get through but these bottoms here are...nothing of the routine sort either. They’re not as outwardly provocative as the red pair and yet...they’re far and away sexier in their own rite. 

Try as he might, Joel feels an inherent weakness to his knees and realizes he’s all but powerless to take his eyes off her. So he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to come off as a creep though, doesn’t want to keep blatantly staring and yet he can’t find the willpower to shift his eyes to anything else – to miss a single second of this girl in _those_ feels criminal. 

It’s the color and the way they look on her…just everything. 

They’re hunter-green – his color of choice – with a mesh, see-through lining at their front and rear. It’s a translucent screen of sorts that isn’t doing much in the way of hiding...things. And they’re sitting so low on her hips that he’s afraid they might up and drop at some point. Not that he would be remiss if that happens. 

“Sit?” 

“Hmm?” 

Fortunately for Joel, Ellie isn’t catching on to his inappropriate ogling and now that he’s been summoned from beneath her magic spell, he knows why. He ostracizes himself in the process as he attempts to get his mind in line with hers and out of the gutter. 

_’But that little tuft’a red...Christ, alive.’_

He sits and bends forward just enough to keep his growing erection to himself. Hopes it’ll go away entirely so he can pay attention as deeply as she deserves. 

Ellie occupies the spot beside him and, “You were dead Joel, you were dead like all the other times in my dreams. But then you...fucking came back to life somehow. And when you did you held me and struggled to speak. But after you finally could, all you kept repeating was, “winter dance,” in this broken, bloody–” 

She stops and slumps forward, head languishing into her waiting palms, “I can’t take this, Joel. Why would you talk to me about the Winter Dance? Why _only_ talk to me about that? Why does this keep happening? What the fuck am I supposed to do?” 

The girl breaks, not from the potential loss this time but from the stress and heartache that isn’t real but is very much felt nevertheless. Her shoulders rise and dip as she measures her breaths and settles amidst the sorrow as best she can on her own. 

Joel sees this, watches her succumb, again, and slides in closer. He wraps an arm around her middle and pulls her to him, his other going to tug at the pair of saline-slick hands hiding her face, “Hey, look at me.” 

She does. 

He pauses, gives her a moment to really see him until, “I don’t have any’a those answers, an’ I have no idea why this keeps happenin’. But what I do know is that I ain’t goin’ nowhere, alright? You need me every night, I’m here, or there, whichever. You wanna work every shift together? We do that. Whatever it takes. However long it takes.” 

Ellie nods as he wipes a few stray tears away using the pads of his thumbs. She sniffs and nods in the bowl of his hands before, “But do you think it means something?” 

“Means somethin’?” 

“Yeah, like, what if something is gonna happen to you and I don’t know, I’m dreaming of it as a warning. Ugh, that makes me sound like a fucking lunatic.” 

He snorts and moves in to kiss her forehead for the second time since arriving, “I think we all know how much of a loon you are, girl. But that’s part’a your charm.” 

She elbows his bicep and raises her gaze just as his lips come off of her, “Pssh, you like me most for it.” 

“Maybe I do, Red, maybe I do.” 

Ellie hooks her arms around his neck and leans against the warm space between his Adam’s apple and his collarbone. She breathes him in; there’s the familiar scents of wood and gun oil but also a mix of rich, earthy tones – a food of some sort. It’s pleasant and comforting and exactly what she needs right now. 

“I like that you like my crazy the most, Joel. Don’t ever stop liking it, okay?” 

He smiles, leans slightly and tips her chin upwards to softly press his mouth to hers. Joel’s not sure whether she wants this – if he’s being too assuming in his actions – but it’s all he can do to stop himself from saying _too_ much, too soon. He doesn’t want to scare her away or invite any more pressure than what’s reasonable for where they’re at. Which he’s blindly inept at discerning at present. Or ever when it comes to her. 

She wants this. 

Ellie presses in and inhales sharply, deepening the kiss and severing the last of the dream’s tethers – this frightful connective tissue that Joel is so naturally good at helping her dismantle. 

_’Maybe he’s right, maybe the only way past this is to go at it together.’_

The idea of her and Joel as a cohesive unit ignites her insides like match paper — she’s burning from his words and the stunning physicality of him. 

Ellie needs more.

She immerses all ten fingers into the ample mix of his salt and pepper and pulls. She dances her tongue alongside his, tastes the sweet tang of desire and unabashedly whimpers. She gets in as close as she can at this angle, messily putting her upper body onto his as she starts to vibrate from want. 

Everything is starting to sear from how hot he’s getting her. From how needy and willing and ready she feels. 

_’Fuck the dream, fuck that nightmare. And fuck Beth and that blond nobody. I just want **you.’**_

She’s trying to crawl into his lap again, trying to feel what she knows is there and be felt by him all the same. Ellie brings the orgasm from earlier to mind and trembles as her composure flees in an untamable mass exodus; she cares little for appearances at this point though, and maybe he likes how quickly he turns her on, how vastly at that...at least, she can only hope that’s the case. She thinks that’s probably the case, but isn’t absolutely sure. 

His hands are at the curve of her waist, set just above her panty line but below the hem of her tee. Joel grips and is on the cusp of bringing her onto the place he knows she’s trying to get to, but it’s, once again, not the right time. 

“Mmph, we gott-Ellie…” 

“Joel, don’t stop, please? Please...” She bites his lower lip, still mindful of the wound that’s healing on the opposite end, though it’s getting smaller with each passing day. She’s balancing on one knee next to him, with her other leg hanging over atop his thigh in this salacious quest for more. 

He exhales a frustrating rumble and licks at the part of his mouth she’s just bitten before doing what she’s asked him not to do, “Red, I don’t wanna stop, trust me, I mean, really I don’t want to. But Tommy an’ Maria are at the house an’ I been gone too long already. Was supposed to be in an’ out with you. Because someone was late for dinner.” 

Ellie pulls away as her browline raises, “You _can_ be in and out with me, Joel…” She finishes, not realizing the full impact of her words and just how difficult of a situation it is for her partner. Or maybe she does. Either way, the girl lowers her head and nips at his throat, an earlobe and the side of his mouth.

“You’re gonna end me, girl, not that damn dream.” Joel says this and closes his eyes as his touch slides farther down her body. He wants to palm those panties, wants to smack her supple ass before coming all over that sheer fabric but thinks it might be a bit too early for that yet. 

Still, the shock of that thought is enough to, somehow, snap him out of it and into the present, “Baby, we got all night yet, yeah? I don’t want those two comin’ here an’ hearin’ all these sounds you’re makin’ for me…”

She sits upright and settles onto her heels, resigning herself that maybe, just maybe, he’s right to stop. For now. Just this once. 

“Oh, for fucks sake. Fine, Mr Practical. I’m sorry for being late, too. I got...I was annoyed earlier so I laid down for a nap and then that fuckery happened and here we are, I guess.” 

She eases off the bed and fixes her shirt, smoothing it down her taut belly. She watches him as he watches her do this; her nipples are hard and it’s obvious she’s without a bra. Obvious that he likes what he’s seeing, if the sizable tent in his jeans is any indication. 

He reluctantly tears himself away and frowns in question, “Annoyed?” 

“Yeah...uh, it was nothing. It doesn’t matter.” 

“Doesn’t matter or you don’t wanna share?” 

Ellie ignores him and stalks off and into the bathroom. He hears a brush raking through that poofy collective of bed-hair before the spigot goes on and a different brush is used for her teeth. 

He stays put, wondering what she might have been bothered by, wondering if she’ll tell him if he asks enough. Wondering if his dick will ever stop being hard around her. 

_’This is ridiculous. Get a hold’a yourself.’_

Once she’s back to roaming the room in search of something, Joel directs his hazels onto the auburn girl as she fervently bends and stands — bends again, stands again. It’s torturous and he’s certain she’s completely oblivious to it. The irony. 

He shifts and forces his attention elsewhere; he notes a few errant scars on her thighs, both front and rear, and all the feral, cutting shadows of the bite-mark-turned-chemical-burn on her arm. The tattoo of their moth is there, of course, but it’s shapeless amidst the nighttime and all its light-thieving glory. 

“Fuck, I can’t find my jeans. And I can’t go over there looking like this.” 

“You did a week ago.” He winks at her when she turns at his playful remark; there’s a mirth to her features now, a lighter tone that’s taken residency in the space left open by her momentary bout of fear. 

“Hey now, that was different!”

“Mmhm. My brother an’ sister-in-law weren't there at the time, you’re right.” 

Ellie laughs and tilts her head; she walks towards him, the mission to recover her pants seemingly abandoned.

“No, they weren't. And I’m glad for that. Still, think they’ll check on us if we’re gone too long?” She’s standing directly in front of him as she feigns curiosity; the girl is tea-potting at her lithe waist, those skinny fingers leaving tiny imprints on her hip bones as she slouches on a heel. She’s posing and stalling for time, he knows. He’s seen her do this before, albeit in a variety of contexts, all wildly different to the one that’s happening here and now.

He bites his bottom lip and grins at the sight, “Mmhm. You better get some clothes on or two more Millers are gonna be seein’ a whole lotta ya.” If Joel couldn’t get off the bed earlier, he absolutely won’t attempt to now. The light of her lamp is shining nearly full-on, exposing more of Ellie’s Christmas crotch – and what a sight it is. Her center is slightly south of his eye level, earning him an unencumbered view of her dark red through a diaphanous green. 

_’Fuck fuck fuckme, calm the hell down, man.’_

She bends and locks their eyes, “Well, since we don’t want that, would you do me a favor, Joel?” 

The man brushes the undercarriage of his chin and nods, deciding it’s best not to speak too many words at present. Decides it’s best to pay attention to those mossy greens instead of the hunter between her legs. 

“Scoot. You’re sitting on my pants.” 

The exhalation he releases nearly gives it all away but he knows her Achilles, knows how to recover a shred of his sad, waning dignity, “Ahh, the evil plan almost worked.” 

The room booms with Ellie’s exaggerated laughter as he lifts a thigh and pulls a pile of denim from underneath his bulk, “There ya go.” 

“Thank you kindly, good sir. So, what’s on the menu tonight?” 

Joel shakes his head and tries to see himself beyond this sexual, flirty haze and out to wherever the hell she is now; she leaps so quickly from one movement to the next and it’s been nothing short of a challenge to keep pace. Just like her, just like him. 

“Uh, steak, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole – Maria made that before you toss any daggers at me, woman – an’ roasted carrots.” 

“Fuuuuuck yes. I’m starving.” She’s by the exit now, her pants, socks and sweatshirt on in record time – no bra though. Joel suspects that this dinner might very well be the longest of his entire life. 

Ellie reaches for her snow boots and looks over a shoulder to him, realizing he’s yet to follow or even rise from the edge of the mattress. She studies a tick and tosses the footwear aside carelessly. Walking, again, the girl squats in front of Joel and grips the back of his calves, catches him as he angles just a little more forward at her touch. 

“You gonna join me? Or do I need big tits and bleach-blond hair to get your ass moving?” 

Joel’s brow furrows as he fails to find focus between her position by his legs and that off the wall comment, “Huh?” 

“Nothing. Now listen, you’ve got me horny and hungry and I’m either gonna eat or…” 

Joel snorts and nods, “Is that right?” 

Ellie smirks and looks south, eyes flashing for a few seconds before she rises. She tugs on his hand and, “Come on, big man. Let’s go.”

††††

“Well shit, we done thought y’all got lost or somethin’.” Tommy pops the caps on four bottles of a local brew just as Joel and Ellie walk in through the porch door.

“Ha ha, but fair. My fault. Totally my fault. I was dead asleep and I’m not the most pleasant person to wake up. Bless Joel’s heart for being the bravest of messengers.” After, Ellie bounds into the dining room and finds Maria at the table already, looking pensive and positively curious. All the food, utensils and various odds and ends have been set – it’s clear that they were waiting for the cook and the tardy girl to show. 

“You feelin’ alright? Joel mentioned ya tied one on pretty good last night.” Tommy sets the beverages down by each of the four place settings and smirks as he finishes. Hair of the dog is the only cure. 

Ellie takes her seat on one side of the rectangular table and pulls a hearty swig of beer, “Mm, mmhm. Oh, shit that’s good. And yeah, I’m feeling better. The nap helped. I know this food will, too.” 

“Damn straight it will. So less chattin’, more chewin’.” Joel winks from his position beside her and smiles as he takes the first bite of his steak. 

Ellie returns the gesture and proceeds to honor the abundance before her without the barest hint of composure. Between the alcohol from last night, waking alone this morning, that frizzy Barbie doll in the afternoon and then the nightmare, she feels as though she’s thinner than ever. Food is a tangible fix for the present and she’s allowing herself the respite to see it as such. 

There’s a stretch of quiet but it only extends as far as their not talking; there’s clanks and pings of metal on ceramic and sounds of suction as glass meets skin filling the air in its stead. It’s a musical dance of the hungry and to Ellie, one of her most treasured songs. 

The peace doesn’t last long, however. 

“So, did I hear that you and Liam got a little familiar last night, Ellie?” 

The girl’s fork wobbles in between her fingers as she pierces Maria with an expression that’s equal parts aghast and startlingly confused, “Say what now?” 

“Oh now you know everyone in this town likes to talk about everyone else and apparently you had Max in your drinking crew. There’s a red flag. Anyway he had an early shift and might have mentioned you and Liam getting to know one another, is all. For the record, I think it’s a good thing, Ellie! Max says Liam is, and I quote, ‘really into her.’ Her being you, to clarify.” 

Ellie’s heart is racing as the blood drains from her head like a broken faucet; she wants to refute this, wants to outright deny the egregiousness of it but Liam _did_ hit on her in the garage. Probably would have kept hitting on her, had she not kicked him and everyone else out without a thought to the otherwise. 

“Uh. I, yeah, we were hanging out. I mean he...but not, no. It’s not like that.” 

She hears Joel clear his throat as he shifts around in his seat, tilting away ever-so. The girl wants to reassure and put his mind at ease with a wet, messy kiss or a cock grab to show she means business when it comes to him and only him – just _something_ – but she can’t. So she doesn’t. 

“Ahh, I see. That’s much clearer now. And what about you and Beth, Joel? She seemed pretty happy when you two left after church this morning together.” Maria rests against the wooden rails of her chair and stretches an arm across Tommy’s shoulders. 

“What’s all this gossipin’? Ain’t normally your style, woman.” Tommy stares at his wife with a mix of tentative curiosity and amusement – he means well with his statement but there’s a bead of truth to it all the same. She knows it, they all know it. 

Maria pinches her man’s short ponytail and, “Well, we missed last week’s dinner and a lot’s been going on in the interim. I just thought I could be nosey for a few minutes while sitting with my family and enjoying a meal. Didn’t mean to ruffle any feathers.” 

“Mmhm, sure sure. Maria Miller an’ ruffled feathers? Never heard a concept so rare.” Tommy glances over, mouth full of carrots and dripping with sarcasm – he’s in a playful mood but it’s resulting in him being completely oblivious to the mounting tension on the other side of the extended leaf. 

“Aside from the Mandate, how am I known to ruffle anything other than your long ass hair? Go on, speak your peace now, Mr Miller.” She laughs and pokes his side, rolls her eyes and turns to face the other two who are, even for them, abnormally quiet. One of which hasn’t been at these dinners in far too long a time either. 

Maria grins and it’s a real, true exhibition of emotion before, “It’s good to have you here again, Ellie. You’ve been sorely missed at our weekly meals.” 

Ellie nods and proceeds to drink the last half of her beer while distractedly pushing the remaining morsels of food around on her dish. She’s irritated by the mention of not only Liam and Beth but by this heartfelt declaration as well for some reason. She’s not sure what’s gotten into Maria to prompt the woman to be so...obtuse – she certainly doesn’t buy her ‘nosey’ argument whatsoever – and feels she’s ready to be on her way. 

“Yeah, me, too. Glad to be here, I mean.” 

“So you two are working things out then?” 

“Maria.” 

“Tommy.” 

“What? I’m allowed to make light of the obvious changes between two people I care about.” 

“We’re workin’ things out, yes.” Joel finally speaks as he simultaneously resettles on his seat, offering a tight smile to match but nothing beyond it. The food is good, the house is warm but the conversation isn’t faring all that well. 

“Good. I’m really glad to hear that. Maybe you and your brother can work things out, too?” 

Tommy rolls his eyes and inhales, “You’re in a way tonight, aren’t ya?” 

“I just think there’s a whole lot of unsaid going on between us all and with so much on the horizon, maybe we ought to just speak our minds and be done with it. I mean, look at both of your faces. A fist fight, really? Grown men. Grown _brothers_. You’ve both been through enough to see how useless that sort of nonsense is. And to be clear, I know that talk y’all had this morning wasn’t a fix-all by no means.” 

Tommy bobs his head a few times and peeks at his older sibling through a line of fair lashes as he mulls. Finally, “Fair is fair. Joel, what’s it gonna take for us to clear the air?” 

The older brother cracks his neck and folds his arms across the expanse of his chest, “Ya know little brother, despite my knowin’ better, I do think poppin’ you in that face’a yours and talkin’ this mornin’ helped. But I’ll say to you now, if there’s any more surprises like Thursdays, you an’ me ain’t gonna be right, understand?” 

Tommy uses a nearby napkin to wipe his mouth as he acknowledges, “Understood.” 

“Good.” 

Maria pats her husband’s leg in the privacy beneath the table and exhales, “Well, that was shorter than I thought but better than I hoped.” 

There’s a charge to the room now, an elephant in the corner and its name is Pink. Such an odd guest to this party but one that deserves its due nonetheless. Everyone knows this great and impressive beast, can feel it staring in earnest despite what Joel’s just said; it calls for more, pleads for all the unsaid things to be spoken aloud and mended as best they’re able. 

Sill, things are alright in the sense that they’re not falling apart anymore and that’ll have to be sufficient for the foreseeable future. Not a step up the rung but not a step down either. Status quo. 

Ellie’s incapable of withstanding a single second more of this high tension, this barricade of what can be said and what can’t be; it has her questioning if she should return for next week’s gathering. Has her wishing she were back in the garage with nothing but her panties and Joel’s hands on her. The girl sighs and tosses her spent utensils into the center of her plate; she needs to say something, anything. 

“Uh, I’m done, gonna go start washing.” 

The girl rises, grabs her dirty dishes and empty bottle and turns to Joel, who’s just finishing the last bit of his casserole. “I can take that in if you’re done?” 

“Sure, thank ya. Appreciate it.” 

“Thanks for dinner, it was delicious, as I knew it would be.” She lingers on him a beat too long, her eyes looking from his lips to his arms and down to the metal clasp of his belt buckle. His legs are spread and she can’t help but wish hers were as well. 

“I’ll join you. Cook should never clean.” 

Tommy is the one to break the spell and as Ellie’s focus darts about nervously, she glimpses Maria busy with her own stack of soiled dishes and Tommy already halfway to the sink. 

_’No one saw a thing. Good.’_

But returning to Joel, she sees him looking right through her, his hazels heavy but hiding it just the same. He bounces a leg and drops a palm onto the strong muscle she knows is just beneath that worn denim. She follows his actions and journey’s south again, can see he’s... 

She looks away, slicks her lips and fights a knowing grin, “D-dessert? Is there dessert? And if so, you want some?” 

“There’s gingerbread cookies somewhere in the pantry. Help yourself. I’ll enjoy some later.” Joel makes sure Maria is none the wiser as he winks with that last sentiment; he knows that _she_ knows precisely what he means, or at least he hopes his girl does. 

Green eyes pierce with a tell of just how good that sneaky remark has her feeling. 

She tilts her chin and coughs a shaky sort of laugh, “You better.” 

“Oh, I will.” 

“Ellie, you wanna wash or dry?” The younger Miller calls from the kitchen, his voice a singsong of a tone that lances all the secretive tension that’s budding. 

Going from piercing to rolling in swift succession, Ellie half-yells with, “Wash!” 

Maria walks over to the girl and taps her on the arm, “Would you mind? I’d like to chat with Joel, if that’s alright?” The woman is asking Joel, not Ellie, but there’s a note there that speaks of hesitancy and resistance all the same. Not of the man himself or even Ellie but of what she likely wishes to discuss. 

“Sure. I think that's all from the table, too, so I’m good to go.” 

Maria and Joel watch the girl trek off and before the water’s been poured into its waiting sink, Mrs Miller’s eyes are locking onto the man by her side.

“I knew you would be mad, Joel. Maybe I underestimated _how_ mad but still, don’t think we didn’t pull the wool over our own eyes with this. So, yes, I’m sorry we didn’t share with you. But you gotta know that the Mandate was difficult enough and even Tommy didn’t know about it for months. Months, Joel. It was only me and the rest of Jackson’s council. But listen, I don’t want you upset with him. I don’t want you upset with me either. Or...upset at all. Which I know is an impossible ask, I get that. Or get it as best as I can anyway. Please know it’s an incredibly tough position I’m in, personally, and I’m aware that this can be said for you and many others. But I promise you, if we could have told you, we would have.” 

The woman waits and picks at the pale threads by the cuff of her jeans, her eyes never leaving his. She won’t waver, not for him, not for anyone. She can’t. 

Joel blows out his cheeks and peers about the room, gathering his thoughts, gathering the abridged version of his truth. 

Then, “I know. I don’t like it, but I understand. Reckon I’m real curious about those forums startin’ up after January though. Until then, I’m gonna enjoy the holiday season an’ put it outta my mind. If that’s alright by you?” 

Maria cracks a half smile and places her elbows onto the table; she bows her torso and breathes a sigh of something that sounds a lot like relief, “Of course. We’re – Tommy and Me, I mean – doing our best to do the same. I feel like I haven’t slept in a year with this whole mess, but, and I know we’re not talking about it, I think it’ll bring a lot of good to Jackson. I really do.” 

Joel studies her out of the corner of his eye and can see the honesty laying bare; she’s not trying to mislead or misshape the facts to fit this situation or any agenda that best serves her favor. Maria is a direct woman, it’s just who and what she is – what she needs to be, given her position within this oasis amidst a wasteland of world. 

“Ya know somethin’, I truly hope it does, too.”

††††

“You dry too slow, Tommy. Look at that full rack. I’m gonna put these pots on your damn head if you don’t speed it up, I fucking swear I will.”

Tommy laughs and snorts, “I dare you to try it, girl. An’ anyway, where’s the fire? What you rushin’ for? Sick’a me already?” 

Ellie mockingly spins her sage as she gets back to task, “No. Now hush up and dry.” 

“Alright, alright, boss lady. It’s the cookies, ain’t it? You been eyeballin’ those sweets since you came in here.”

“Maybe. I like gingerbread, okay?” 

“Hmph, Joel too, it seems. But hey now, I ain’t judgin’. I’m just here, mindin’ my business an’ doin’ my work. Speakin’ of, you really feelin’ alright? Ran into Joel as he was leavin’ your place earlier. Seemed in a hurried way, too.” 

Ellie swallows and pushes out a quick chuff of air, “You Miller’s don’t think I can handle my liquor, huh? Between Joel dropping in that damn early to check on me and Maria’s comment during dinner and now you, I’m starting to believe _y’all_ might be the ones who need a night out on the town. Or whatever the old folk used to say.” 

Tommy’s neck snaps at that, the spatula in his damp hands turning end over end as he wipes the droplets free from it in, “Ouch, callin’ us all elderly in one fell swoop? That hurts, I’ll have you know, what with my youthful glow an’ all.” 

Ellie widens her eyes and turns towards him, “Then drink more booze and call me in the morning.” 

“Touché, Ellie, tou-damn-ché. Anyways, how you two really doin’? I talked to him this mornin’ an’ he was his usual vague self, but things seem to be on the up an’ up?” 

This time a plate slips free and sinks into the soapy water below, her hands searching for it while she privately measures her breaths. She doesn’t know _all_ of what was talked about between Tommy and Joel, only that he ‘checked in’ and that was that. Anything she says now could very well contradict his story and put them each in an awkward position with one another. 

“Uh, we’re doing better. Honestly, it was just tiring, ya know? Being resentful and mad all the time while hiding it from everyone else? Exhausting. Realized I needed to let things go and move forward. And it’s Joel...so.” 

She catches the man as he silently absorbs and processes her words; she sees all this through her peripheral and gulps, hoping that the bullet in focus has gone and passed her by. 

“Hidin’ things ain’t never done anyone no good. Remember that, okay?” He levels his looks as he sets a serving tray onto the counter and tosses the towel atop his shoulder. 

“What do you mean?” 

_’Ughhh awkward, awkward.’_

“I just mean if you ever need’a talk about any goddamn thing, you know where to find me. I saw what a rough go it was for my brother, bein’ apart from you, but I know it wasn’t easy on you either. An’ no matter what it is, I want ya to know you’ve got more folks’ here than not.” 

Ellie pops the rubber stopper in the base of the kitchen’s basin and watches as the murky water drains into a darkness that feels hauntingly familiar. It’s a feeling that’s disproportionately reminiscent of the sewers she and Joel – and Henry and Sam – once found themselves within years ago. 

She pushes the memory away before it has time to root, before it leaves her with a different sort of ache that feels like emptiness and loss.

So, the girl turns, shakes her wet fingers and clicks her tongue, “Even if it’s to bitch about your brother?” 

The man throws his head to the rear and double-claps both palms to his chest, “You kiddin’? _Especially_ if it’s to bitch about Joel, c’mon now girl.” 

She grins, looks to the floor and, “Deal. Now move already so I can get to those cookies.”

††††

“Of course there’s a Terminator 3 an’ a Terminator 4, maybe more, not sure though. They’d probably be makin’ ‘em still if the planet hadn’t gone to shit.”

Ellie leans across the leather cushions and slaps Joel’s arm incredulously, “You’re shitting me?” 

“I am doin’ no such thing. Hand to God, that’s the truth.” 

“Well fuck, Joel, we need to watch those, too! You’ve been holding out on me, dude.” The girl juts her chin forward and glares dangerously while reprimanding the man beside her. 

“Alright then, add ‘em to the list.” 

Tommy and Maria laugh and exchange a delightful sort of look before, “You an’ those cheesy action movies. Ain’t never had good taste, that one.” 

Ellie bucks at that, throws her spindly limbs into the air and sighs animatedly, “What? What in the fuck? Have you even _SEEN_ T2? Joel you need to banish these traitors from the house right now. I can’t stomach the stunning lack of respect.” 

All three Miller’s laugh but Ellie keeps firm to her entertaining resolve until, “Awe, ya know that boy is messin’ with you, Red. He loves the T1000 more than he lets on, trust me. There were wall posters at one point. ‘S’all I’ll say.” 

Tommy stands at that and shrugs, “Ya know big brother, some things are best left a mystery. An’ posters my ass. But on that fibbin’ note, I think we better get. You ready, Em?” 

Maria stands, stretches and yawns in a quick succession of movements, “Ready. Ellie, you’re on patrol early with Tommy and Joel tomorrow. Alpine Valley. Shouldn’t be too tough out that way but I want you familiar with the area so I’m sending you with these tiresome goons.” 

“Oh, good. That’ll be good. Never been on that run. Hopefully we have no bitchass hordes like the other day. That was too close, was waiting on a Bloater at any minu–oops, sorry, you guys wanna get going. Anyway, sounds great. Goodnight, guys.” Ellie stands at that last and slips both hands into the rear pockets of her jeans. Joel joins her but follows his brother and Maria as they make their way towards the exit. 

“You’re stayin’?” Tommy glances over his shoulder, beyond Joel, to look directly at Ellie. 

_’Curious.’_

Ellie trots and stops beside her man, nudges him quickly in his side and, “Yep. We’re gonna start putting up some of the Christmas decorations tonight. It’s cold as hell out there but I’m tired of this house being the Scrooge of the block.” 

Joel turns and gives the girl a playful lopsided grin, his thumb hooking into his belt with an arm leaning to the wall, “Is that so?” 

“It is so. We’ll see you at the stables bright and early tomorrow, Tommy.”

The younger sibling nods to his brother, feigns tipping a phantom hat for Ellie and leaves with his wife in tow; the couple slips through the door and out into the muted, winter night without another word. 

A few paces beyond Joel’s front steps, they’ll link hands, lips and whisper promises the way lovers do.

††††

“Okay no, to the left a smidgen. No, Joel, my left not your left. Oh for shits sake, I’m freezing my tits off out here and you wanna goof off?”

Joel shifts the wreath into its proper position, centering the festive object before climbing down from the ladder. He blows a plume of warm air into the finite cave of his hands, rubbing them together as the girl bounces uncomfortably on the porch. 

“Let’s get inside, it’s too damn much bein’ out here this late. We need the sun an’ you need more patience,” he taunts, throwing a smile in there for added emphasis. 

“Best idea you’ve had all night.” She doesn’t wait for a quip but instead, kicks the snow off her boots and pushes the door open in a display of careless haste. She jogs inside and jumps in a circle for a beat as he enters after her, trying feebly to warm her shivering body as best she’s able. 

He mirrors her but removes his dripping footwear and stows them in their proper place. His coat is next, then gloves, scarf and knit cap to follow. All removed, all where they belong. 

“I’m gonna check on the fireplace while you dance by yourself, make sure it ain’t died down too much.” 

“Oh ha freaking ha, funny man. Maybe if we decorated a week or so ago like the rest of the town, I wouldn't have come up with such a shitty idea.” 

He grins at the girl as he walks past her, his heading set towards the orange glow at the heart of the living room. Joel glimpses the portrait Ellie drew of him sitting atop the mantle and fondly remembers the day she gave that to him. 

It was his 50th birthday and around the same time she became obsessive with sketching and creating art in general. He always brought supplies home whenever he would come across them, and so it was that she took to drawing portraits of him. Often. This exact one was her very first go at it and Ellie felt it fitting that he should have the initial sketch, given how famous she said she’ll be one day, of course. 

He wonders if she still draws as much as she once did, and if so, imagines just how refined her talent and craft must be after all these years. 

“Oh, hell. I have to give you an updated version of that.” 

He twists to see her standing behind him, her jacket and boots gone but arms still holding tight to one another. 

“No, I love that one.” 

She smiles and steps slightly askew of the shelf as she reaches for the picture; she runs a finger along the edge of the light wood frame and exhales slowly, “I’ve drawn you so many times since then. Maybe I’ll show you some of those one day, if you wanna see?” 

“Drawin’ me even when we wasn’t, ya know, speakin’ an’ all?” 

She peeks past her shoulder and nods, “Especially during then.” 

Joel dips his head as he situates behind her; his hands, now warm from the fire, raise and take hold of her, before easing them along the stiff waistband of her jeans towards her belly. Towards her zipper. He rests his chin atop her chilled hair as he does this, grins as she sinks into him and that peace from earlier comes washing in once more. 

The way they fit with one another is so effortless, so easy and natural – somehow – that he’s struggling to remember all the days prior to these when _this_ wasn’t their norm. 

“I reckon I’d like to see anythin’ you create.” 

Ellie bites her tongue and closes her eyes, drags her touch along the thick fabric of the flannel lining his ams and squeezes as she goes. 

_’These arms, fuck.’_

She mulls on how he might feel if she ever bit them, not seriously of course, but just a nibble, a suck, or a lick here and there. It’s an odd impulsion but the more she fantasizes and thinks of how big and strong he really is, the more she wants to have of him. Paying no mind to how weird it may be if said aloud. She won’t say it aloud. Maybe. Depends. 

Ellie wiggles her bottom against his center and huffs, “My ass is freezing in these jeans, think you could get me those droopy pajamas I love so much while I stay here and warm up?” 

Joel bounces his head on hers, presses a kiss to her hair and lets go. For now. 

Once he’s up the first section of stairs, before the turn, she pops the scratched button on her jeans, yanks the metal clasp apart and eases herself out of the icy confines. She tosses them onto the floor in front of the hearth but keeps her socks on for the time being. Her hoodie is next in line to go; it’ll be chilly but she knows it won’t last for long. Hopes it won’t last for too long, at least. 

She hears heavy footfall on the staircase and grins; for as stealthy as that man is in dire circumstances when all the stakes are stacking against him, he makes no effort to put those tactics to use whilst safe in his creature comforts. Just another Joelism that Ellie loves like all the rest. 

He’s almost to the living room as the pads of her fingers linger to the moth embedded into her jagged skin – _their_ moth. Their light. She need only look to herself to seek all that he’s sacrificed to give to her. 

The girl shivers as this thought and all the others mix and merge into this stunning gradient that’s just theirs, this transition from that first stage to this newest one. She’s vibrating at the mere idea of such a wondrous, complicated history, and what is yet to be written and shared between them.

But she’s woefully inept to handle such weighty musings at present; Ellie’s turned on to a level that’s fervently unnerving and deliciously exciting simultaneously. It’s shocking how little he has to do to inevitably leave her wanting all of him so blindly, so fully. It’s a new realm, a new otherworld unto itself, if she’s being wholly honest, but it’s of the kind she can't seem to get enough of. There’s a whisper within that she’ll never quench this thirst for him but she loves how new all of these sensations are in spite of it. 

“Here ya g–oh,” Joel stutters, as he rounds the corner and discovers her facing him, hand hovering above her ink, with a glittery gaze that’s both alluring and...wild. 

“Thanks. I was warming my cheeks with the fire while I waited.” 

“I see that.” His eyes are on those wickedly-sexy panties again, his cock twitching and filling out the longer he stares. 

“You seem to like these…” She looks low on herself and traces her nails across the nylon, from her curls to the elastic band at its top. “Is it the color? I know how much you like green.” 

He hears a twinge of nervousness in her voice and it redirects his hazels to her face. He realizes he’s still holding the sweatpants instead of actually giving them to her and inwardly berates himself. Joel goes the last few steps until he’s standing in front of her and offering the soft sleepwear with, “Here. Get warm. Don’t want you catchin’ a cold.” 

Ellie takes his pajamas and immediately tosses them onto the arm of the couch, “I’ll put them on later. You didn’t answer my question, Joel.” 

The man clears his throat and angles himself so he can see all of her, “Mmhm. It’s the color, sure.” 

She giggles at that and wraps both of her arms around his midsection, “Just the color?” 

“No, more like color _s_.” 

The girl goes a step or two apart as she looks south on herself in interest, “Colors?”

He laughs as he seemingly gains use of his limbs again; he palms her throat and jawline and guides her view up and onto him, “Red an’ green are my favorite colors, girl.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah, _oh._ ” 

She rises up onto the balls of her feet and crashes her mouth to his, unafraid to show her desire and fearless to give in to whatever it is that’s meant to happen here tonight. 

He doesn’t stop her. 

Instead, he glides his touch over the pretty knobs of her spine until he reaches the topmost curve of her bottom. Joel suspends himself there, at the stretchy band of solid fabric that’s keeping these marvelous panties to her person and knows he’s nearing a time for decisions. In his hesitancy, he feels her hands unbuttoning his flannel shirt and pawing at the soft cotton tee beneath. 

He doesn’t stop her. 

“Off, take it off, Joel.” 

Reticent as he is to do so, his hands release her so she can drive his top layer over his back and down his arms. Once it’s free from him, she throws it onto the pajama pants and smirks at the growing pile of garments. 

She squeezes his forearms the moment they’re exposed but is already angling for more, “The tee, too?” 

“Soon. For now, I just need…” Joel’s sentiments fade into that unknowable abyss where all words go when desire and lust are at the helm. His hands are on her again, palming the place they so desperately crave, but there’s an urgency to his demeanor now. He grips the globes of her ass and pulls all of her to him, kneading his fingers and keeping hold to all of her beautifully taut flesh as he slips further into this magicism. 

Ellie’s mouth splits in an O as she hisses something that sounds a lot like ‘yes’ or ‘fuck yes.’ He surmises that both cases are likely the truth. 

“Fuckin’ sexy,” he whispers under his breath, and she can feel the muscles in his arms and chest flexing as he continues to grab and squeeze at her. 

“More Joel, please?” It’s not so much an ask as it is her begging and Joel’s cock comes close to breaking through the teeth on his jeans. He didn’t think she would be the type to beg in that regard and he can’t help how much he likes that from her.

“Mmph, mmhm.” It’s a mumble instead, as more of his rhetoric gets lost to the maelstrom of what she’s stirring inside of him. It’s been so long, too goddamn long, since he’s been even remotely close to a woman in such a way but with Ellie, it’s transporting him to another level altogether. He’s in love with her and he’s never been in love. And though he knows he won’t go any farther than she allows or asks – or begs – he prays that this never ends. 

He lifts her then, effortlessly and without so much as a noise, “C’mere.” 

Joel carries her, walks them in tandem to his solo chair and eases down, repositioning her straddling legs to fit comfortably around his waist. The light from the fire at her rear is enough, is plentiful really, enabling him to see what he wants and be seen at the same. 

She doesn’t waste any single second after she’s settled; her hands are in his hair and her lips to his as she angles her boiling center forward and presses down on him. He’s so hard, so big but so far away yet that it’s driving her into a fit of an unfathomable pining. Despite this searing need, she remains unsure of what’s proper protocol after this part. 

Regardless, Ellie trusts that she’ll know what to do when it’s time. Whenever it’s time. 

After a few minutes of moving just like this together, of falling into a rhythmic fluidity of rocking against him and feeling his steely hold of her lissom ass, hips and thighs, she finds courage enough, and, “Joel…?” 

“Hmm?” 

“I wanna see _you._ ” 

He stops their kiss and puts his forehead to rest on her collarbone. He knows how far this can go, how far he hopes prays wishes and thinks it very well _could_ go, but there’s that ever present crossroads to contend with: _Should_ it go that far? 

“Hmph. I wanna see you, too.” 

“What do you wanna see?” 

She pulls away and leans the bulk of her weight onto his thighs, plays absently with the hem of her character shirt. There’s that nervousness showing again. 

He smiles and moves his hands from underneath her to trace phantom shapes across the curvature of her shapely hips. Joel moves out from there to retrieve her wrists and brings both hands to his mouth; he kisses the scarred knuckles and holds them to his lips, “We don’t gotta rush this, girl.” 

A plume of wind escapes from Ellie at the relief that comes into her; she’s not afraid of taking this as far as it may go but her inexperience is certainly something worth considering. But Ellie loves how he can read her, how he understands what she’s feeling without so much as an utterance to betray and lay it all bare before him. 

“I know. But I want you, I want you so bad, Joel.” Her voice is a whimper, a prayer of seduction that’s tinting his view with a crimson haze. 

He places her palms flat onto his chest and smiles, “Close those pretty greens for me.” 

“But I wanna see you…” 

“It’s just a minute, I promise.” 

She does as he asks. She always has, in her own way, at least. 

“You just feel me, alright? An’ if you wanna stop, I stop. Deal?” 

“I don’t want you to stop anything, Joel…” 

“Deal?” 

Ellie sighs, does as she’s asked and nods, “Deal.” 

Joel’s tactility planes from her knees to her hips and once there, he anchors himself to those solid bones so resolutely in his grasp. There’s too much space between his groin and where she’s sitting for her to feel the rigidity of him but that’s not what this is about right now. It’s about this girl reveling in being touched and handled by him – about removing the world and protecting her from it filling Ellie’s head with thoughts of inadequacy and uncertainty. He’s teaching her to feel and to trust the instincts of her body. To feel safe and in control, no matter what she may or may not know in this carnal arena. 

After releasing his moorings, he goes higher, to the waistband of those hunter-green panties that are absolutely his favorite now. He teases there a few seconds, even slips a few of his digits inside and brushes a tuft of that soft auburn at the top of her sex. 

“Mmm, that feels good.” She grabs his gray shirt a little tighter while absentmindedly rolling her hips against nothing. A natural reaction, an instinctual awareness. 

“Good.” 

He leaves that place and rides higher beneath her clothing still, his hands sculpting to the curve of her torso as they travel north. Joel watches as she enjoys him, trying to memorize every moment of this and every part of her all the while. There’s a small scar he passes en-route to where he’s going, and Joel thinks to inquire about it at a later time. All their scars and the stories that are hidden within the distorted tissue – so many, too many. 

His touch traverses over the rolling hillscape of her rib-cage and he pauses at the undercarriage of her breasts. The man breathes, steals himself and hangs there, rubbing softly to the silky skin directly south. 

“Joel… _please…_ ” 

_’She’s the begging type. Jesus, I ain’t gonna survive this.’_

Even in this low light he can discern by appearances alone just how hard her nipples are, how ready he’s got her. She didn’t need to supplicate herself for him to do what he was aiming to do all along but he sure is enjoying it. 

Finally, he gives in. Employing each of his hands, he cups her softly and rolls his thumbs past the edges of her firm peaks; he feathers back and forth at first, sliding over and around them and back again before bringing his index finger into the mix. He pinches her slightly and pulls, too, applying just enough pressure to have her all but moaning in his lap. 

The man wonders if this is the first time anyone’s ever felt her in this way and hopes quietly that he’s the only one. 

“Feel good, baby?” 

“Don’t fucking stop...mmm...harder, Joel.” 

A smile cracks his arousal for a beat – of course Ellie Williams would want him to go harder, be rougher on her. Even this early into their explorations, he’s happy to hear her asking for what she wants, sounding both unafraid and unashamed to speak her desires. It’s just like her. 

He notes a warm sensation between his thighs, but it’s not by dick – rather, it’s in the space situating directly below her covered slit. He realizes that the girl is so wet she’s soaking through those panties and onto his dark denim. 

_’...Christ that’s hot.’_

“Ellie, open your eyes.” 

She does. 

“You want more, don’t ya?” His gaze descends to the spot where he can all but glimpse the drip-drops as they leak out of her. Instantly he wishes he _could_ see that in real time and looks ahead to moments spent in better lighting where he’ll work her into a similar state of undoing. 

She follows his line of sight and cups a hand to her mouth in sheer surprise, “Holy shit…That’s a lot, isn’t it?” After, Ellie grins tentatively while slipping her other hand between her legs and drawing circles on the spongy-green mesh. She pulls her fingers away and discovers they’re soaking wet _and_ dripping onto his tee. 

“Jesus, Ellie, I ain’t never–damn, do you realize what you’re doin’ to me?” 

The girl purses her lips and clicks her tongue to the roof of her mouth, “And I already came once today.” 

“I know.” 

A pair of forest eyes go wide in veritable shock, “You _saw_ me?” 

“I did.” 

“That’s why you and Dina were talking, wasn’t it?” 

“It was. I know you like her but I didn’t know if you like her enough for her to see what you was doin’ to yourself.” 

Ellie chuffs and bites on her bottom lip in contemplation, “Did you like what you saw?” 

“Baby, I was hard all through church but not even God’s judgement coulda made me feel bad 'bout it.” 

The girl suspires a spell as she absorbs this truth. An idea comes to her on the heels of this reveal and she looks south to his center before, “Open your jeans, Joel.” Ellie sits on his thighs and waits for his response; as the liquid glow of the room is starting to dim, the fire of their intertwining souls is burning white-hot. She feels this, can see that he feels this, too. 

He does as he’s told. 

Joel unfastens his buckle and pulls it slowly through the loops of his pants. He discards the thing, letting it fall to the floor in a muffling _clmph_ of leather and nickel. After, he unlatches the top button but as he grabs for the angular tab to take care of the rest, Ellie is there. 

“Can I?” 

The man slouches in the wide chair, reclining to give her and his hardon the room they each require, “By all means.” 

She goes about this slowly and when she’s finally reached the end of the line and no more zipper is left, she angles in and kisses him softly, “You saw me come today, now I wanna see you come.” 

Joel moans against her mouth as his hips push upwards ever-so; he’s in a daze, a dream, a fantasy – whatever it is, wherever he is, he knows this can’t be real. Irrespective of all the evidence that suggests otherwise, there’s just no possible way this is happening, no feasible means in which those words came from that pretty red mouth. 

But it is real and he knows he’s secondary in this equation – happily so. 

“Mmph, only if you let me give ya another one. _First._ ” 

His woman, who was about to wrap a hand to him – albeit through his boxers – stops at that, “Oh?” 

“I’m a Texas gentleman, I’ll have you know. Now go on, lean back and spread those legs for me.” 

She huffs a short, semi-nervous laugh and steals a quick smooch. After, she lists onto his thighs, places a foot flat on both sides of him and widens the space between her knees. As Joel watches her unfold in front of him, he can’t stem the surge of lust that fires through his veins; he wants so badly to take this far faster than it’s going, but he absolutely will not. Rushing this would be the antithesis of what it’s all about, of what she means to his heart and the gravitas of a physical relationship – of which he hopes to teach her and learn from, too. 

“You remember what I said, remember our deal?” 

She rolls her eyes and scrunches her nose, “Mmhm. But I don’t want you to sto– _ffffuckJoel._ ’ 

Ellie arches her torso as her eyes seal shut; he’s rubbing his thumb in slow, methodical circles atop the leaking mesh, pressing onto her swollen nub and rolling a nipple at the same. 

The image of Ellie slipping so willingly into ecstasy sends a bolt of lightning straight to his balls. He clears his throat, sees his cock bounce of its accord and shamefully fears he won’t make it to _her_ finish line. 

“Press harder. Feels so fucki...ng good.” 

“Do ya one better,” Joel pipes, as he dips under the edging and into the opposite side of her underwear. It’s just his thumb for now, probably for tonight, but it’s enough. It’s more than enough by the looks of things. 

She extends her shaking arms outwards and hooks her nails into the padded ends of the cushion they’re occupying; she scans downward and, “Put...put it inside of me? I need something of you in me, Joel.” 

The man is aware of what it is she means for him to ‘put inside of her’ but his brain is so foggy and sex-deprived that he instinctively snaps his hips in response. It wasn’t much but it was a clear indication that he won’t last much longer. Which is, for his age, an almost nonexistent happenstance. It’s her, it’s all her. 

Looking at the vision of her writhing on _just_ his thumb – of which he’s yet to do anything really significant with – Joel knows he’s lost the battle he’s been fighting against all week. His heart is hers, his body, too. Come hell or high water – come what may. There’s no one else for him. 

_“Joellll…”_

There’s that whine again, that delicious, sensuous whine he knows he’ll never tire of. 

“Look at me, darlin’.” 

She does. 

He eases just the tip of his thumb into her slippery chasm and instantly feels himself tipping over the edge. She’s so tight, much too tight. Joel knows the answer without having to ask the question but he will anyway. Wants to hear that truth in her own words. 

“Ellie…” 

“Fuck, huh? What’s wrong?” She lances him with an expression of confusion and momentary fear. She’s thinking that something must be off, or that he’ll stop, or maybe she’s done something completely wrong and embarrassed herself, or worse, him. 

Another tell. 

He holds them there, teetering between being inside and outside of her and, “Am I gonna be your first?”

Ellie smiles shyly but a mischievous shadow crosses her firelit features as she moves nearer to him again. He sucks in a lungful of air – that misbehaving side to her is a thing he adores more than there are words to tell as such – and waits on her reply. Either way his feelings won’t change but knowing what he believes he knows is starting to drive him towards a dangerously alluring precipice. 

She bites his earlobe, kisses it gently before, “...And my last.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...that happened. That ALL happened. But FIRST: Thank you THANK Y O U all for the comment love, the insightful feedback, the bells, the whistles, the glittery tinsel – the way I adore it and you is just paramount. 
> 
> But onto some post installment notes (like usual): 
> 
> • The damn nightmare. Ellie is internalizing and I think that's starting to have a profound affect on her mental stability insofar as how and when this cursed dream manifests itself (ie. after she spoke her peace to Joel, albeit drunkenly, there was no nightmare...)  
> • Joel. Just Joel.  
> • The sexual tension – I want to be able to carve into it and get stuck on the way down (before finally making my way through of course...I'm not a monster!). But what're we thinking about this? I've had these two on the brain all damn week (well, much longer obviously but for the sake of why this chapter was so sexualized, there ya go) and needed to pour it out. Cheers to UST that's slowly starting to get somewhere.  
> • The Miller/Williams dinner! Maria originally was a lot harsher on the first draft, but I softened her because, while I know she's certainly got that 'leader' edge to her personality, which is inherent given her role, she's got a family, too. I hope the balance of that is good enough in her scenes so as to not outright piss any of y'all off. ;)  
> • Tommy and Ellie – I have a lot planned for these two insofar as the development of their relationship and the role he will play. But this was the start of the start. Also, I think Tommy and Ellie kept a certain level of communication and contact in regards to Game II and though we don't know that for sure (because sigh), I went with my gut on that one.  
> • Ahh, Terminator rhetoric. You'd think I love those movies (I do...well, the second one at least).  
> • Joel and those green panties. And a fireplace. And a chair. And TOUCHING. Ahhh, I had to undo some of the unreality of 2020 with that moment, so if I did that for you then by all means, I'm happy to oblige. If it was too sexy too soon and I need to go to horny jail, well, take me away, Chief. 
> 
> And that's chapter 10! Holy shit, we are TEN chapters in. 
> 
> Thank you ALL so damn much. Truly. I am humbled each and every week(ish) and am finding fewer and fewer words that summarize my appreciation. Wishing everyone is safe and sound. xx
> 
> PS. If you catch my bastardized Future Days lyrics, give me a shout. ;)  
> PSS. I'm trying to line up the Christmas chapter with ACTUAL Christmas. Someone send me more time to make this happen, mmk? xx


	11. & Echoing Brontides

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night continues for Joel and Ellie...but how far does it go? There's some early morning reflection and cozy closeness before Joel, Ellie and Tommy greet their Monday shift with hoofs and histories to boot. A little Christmas decorating after and a wholesome moment shared between two best friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost went the full two weeks but I didn't! Still, I must say – apologies on the delay for this one! December is, even in this pandemic, a busy busy month. Family, gifts, baking, etc, etc. All that to say, thank you for your patience on this one! It was not my intention to leave y'all hanging after chapter 10's...precipice. ;) 
> 
> But as always, I hope you enjoy this installment and I'll meet you at the end for more notes! xx

_”...And my last.”_

Her reply roars into him like windsong from the highest altitudes; it incites an inferno in his cavernous lungs, an impatient urgency to push beyond the limitations he’s set. For himself, for her, for himself _with_ her. 

Joel exhales, his air a combination of flame and frost as the very molecules of his person begin to boil and solidify all at once; he’s burning by her resolute declaration, his skin tingling from head to heel as tiny pinpoints of electricity shock throughout him. 

He’s never wanted someone the way he wants her. 

The impressive intensity having never come even remotely in range to what she's eliciting with each immeasurable second that ticks and ticks and ticks... 

The man doesn’t know how much more he can take before his pitiful reserves of reticence are torn asunder. How much longer he can deny himself – how much longer he can deny _her_. 

He’s brought back as Ellie drags her mouth along his feverish flesh as she travels from his ear to his front, her lips wet and full and parting; she’s opening in all ways to and for him, he knows that. He thinks she knows that, too. 

He wants to open more of her, wants to feel her stretch and fit herself to him — wants to be given that gift and to give more in return. 

Joel closes his hazels as he allows this fleeting hex to ensnare him, to sense her by mirroring his actions from earlier; in this breadth, he consciously pushes the world aside, remanding it to the _real_ – to the unfavorable realm that exists beyond their union. The place that lies outside this cocoon he and Ellie are building in this house, in this chair, in each other’s arms. 

Unseeing still, the tips of Joel’s fingers feather to the crescent underside of her breasts as they sail along, feeling her soft, untouched skin in a series of painstakingly slow movements. He’s tracing the curvature back and forth and around again, learning her piece by piece, discovering how she likes to be handled. The man longs to know what it is that draws out those intoxicating murmurs and delicious chills he’s so steadfastly chasing behind. Wants to learn and use this knowledge to give her all she deserves and more. 

She shivers beneath his touch and Joel’s eyes split to behold a pair of kissed-red lips trembling and widening from one another, “Mmm...fuck that’s—god that feels so g-good, Joel. You’re teasing...m-me...aren’t you…” 

He loves hearing his name on that lustfully broken tongue; hearing it spoken in a heady rush of sweet agony reaffirms that she knows who she’s here with — that this is not a baseless fantasy or hollow hope made manifest within his mind. 

She wants this. She wants him.

“Mmhm. An’ good. It should always feel this way, sweetheart.” 

Another shiver. 

Her nipples are pebbled, as solid as stone, so Joel touches, teases and plays with her, summoning more from the depths of her untamable arousal. His other thumb is still busy working at her hole, putting the glossy spread of her heated slick to use as he goes. 

Ellie’s petite body is so ready to take him – so swollen that Joel suspects he could have her climaxing if he enters in just a measure farther – but he doesn’t want this tantalizing scene to end. Not yet. Not when they’re just getting started. 

“Making me feel s-so good, Joel…” 

It’s an affirmation of the highest kind how even the simplest of acts is leaving her lost to an oblivion of wanton sexual desire. Himself as well, of course. 

He pulls Ellie closer, squeezing just enough to emphasize his unsaid pining and it’s then he glimpses it again: Another vibration rumbles through her lithe frame and she trembles above him. Her pale flesh sprouts tiny bumps as it reacts and Joel’s incapable of stifling the half-smile that snakes across his shadowy features. 

“Well, I like makin’ you feel good, baby,” he utters, while the pad of his thumb draws circles at her entrance. He’s somehow managing to keep to this holding pattern with an insurmountable show of restraint. The way he wants her...

He knows it’s driving her wild though, so much that he can’t decide if he wants to give in and give the girl what she seeks or tantalize just a little more.

As he ruminates, Joel lists a length to gain a better view of Ellie; she’s backlit and framed by a fine halo of orange, red and yellow — she’s fire incarnate and he’s the fuel. A sacred vision to behold. 

Her weighty words loop then, the sound of them ethereal and otherworldly, playing like a most treasured vinyl on its inaugural spin: _“...And my last.”_

The thought of this, of _all_ of this, being so fresh and foreign to his girl strikes once more; he longs to be the first to experience every part of her that’s been stowed away until _this_ wonderful, albeit unforeseen beginning.

Longs to be that first. That last. And hoping against hope to be the only in the midst of that in-between area he doesn’t want to wonder on for too long.

Joel inhales sharply as his lips curl in on themselves; his mustache prickles as he does this, another sensation that somehow heightens all the rest. He wonders idly what she’ll make of his beard when he kisses all the places he’s yet to visit — to visit and taste those places, too. 

The man looks her over and absorbs the full impact of this beautifully amorous scene, feeling it all through the space within and without his beating heart. 

She’s moving as fluidly as she’s able, caught between his hand beneath her shirt and its pair still inside her panties. She’s wearing too many clothes and it’s becoming bothersome for the girl; not physically but because...she wants all of him against all of her. 

As his thumb lingers in that crevice of being in and being out of her wetted core, Joel realizes he needs to settle a measure before things drift too far out on these wayward seas. Before he makes a mess of himself on his belly again — only this time in her company and not on his own like yesterday. 

He sees her reds start to part again, those lips so close to his as she stutters and whimpers towards whatever it is she’s meaning to say, “But..t-that’s o-okay, right? That I’m a...that I-I’ve never done this-or really much at all be-fore?”

Her fingertips track lines against the peaks and valleys of his beard as she’s suspending in this latest bout of uncertainty; as she hangs in this vulnerable stasis, the gold of her jade irises glow like a volcanic expulsion for all the world to see. All the world being Joel. Her world. 

Theirs. 

He’s never witnessed anything like this, never known anyone like her — despite the many notches on his proverbial bedpost. Notches that meant nothing then and mean even less now. 

The man gulps, audibly at that, and shifts beneath her, “Girl, it’d be okay either way but knowin’...mmph, knowin’ what I know an’ hearin’ all these things from your pretty mouth-” 

He pauses, steals a shaky pull of air before his touch crests her rigid nipple again, this time with a full squeeze to finish. His hips snap slightly as he does this, acting of their own accord. He’s angling against nothing, just as she was not a minute or so ago, because it’s his instinct, that _knowing_ that’s taking over. It won’t be long now. 

The tip of Joel’s thumb is still there, on that precipice, on the cusp of descending into the void of Their Next Step. There will be no going back for them after this, he realizes as much. Hopes she does, too. 

But she’s willing and warm and here and the longer he staves the impulse, the more difficult it’ll be to not take her sooner than he should. 

“Joellll, push it inside of me…?”

Ellie reaches south to enfold Joel’s wrist in an ironclad hold – it’s the teasing, torturing hand by her dripping, needful slit. She’s had enough. “P _lease_.” 

Begging. She’s begging him again. Or maybe she’s never ceased this line of entreaty? Joel can’t recall properly at the moment. Doesn’t care to. Loves how fully this behavior of hers is turning him on – how much it seems to be doing the same for her in equal measure. 

He pulls his arm from underneath the Captain and winds a path north until he’s by her throat, “Look’a me, darlin’, I wanna see you take this part’a me.”

“Fffuck yes. _Yes, Joel._ ” Ellie whispers that last, her sentiments floating atop the seascape of wild abandon they’re journeying. All space and time as they know it has been lost to this pair of star-crossed travelers – there’s only the combustion in their spines and the charge in their hearts to guide them on this celestial quest. 

At last. 

His thumb enters her steadily, curling upwards ever-so. He hisses at the scorching heat that envelops the farther in he delves and oh, she’s unyielding. Ellie’s entrance is so impossibly tight that he can't fathom how she’ll fit anything other than what she’s accepting at current; the flexible ring by her opening stretches at first, and then nearly collapses on the slimmer part of his digit as he steadily moves in. She’s sucking him in already, pulling Joel into her boiling hole one half-centimeter at a time. 

Joel watches his girl take this minuscule bit of him in sheer fascination – it’s not insignificant in its very nature but in comparison to...other things he wants her to take, its impact is notably far less. But she likes it and that’s what matters most. 

He’s in as deep as his thumb is long and remains motionless for a spell, allowing her a moment to adjust and feel how it is to have a piece of him in that virginal hole. 

It dawns on him then: They’ll need to be much more patient and take things gradually. Joel knows he’ll need to be mindful of her every step of the way. 

Control. He must reacquaint himself with what it means to control his person and leverage his actions, having been met with such a wondrous circumstance like hers. 

“Look’a you, takin’ it so good. Feel nice, baby?” 

She juts forward at how dark and low the pitch of his voice goes, his cadence akin to an echoing brontide — this and all of him is overcoming her to the point of utter disintegration. 

Her physicality is rattling, shaking as if she’s on the brink of self-implosion; Joel holds her by a loose grip on her neck — he seems to favor this and it’s a display of dominance that makes her whimper and gyrate harder. 

She’s a needful sort, a woman who’s desiring more and more as the minutes blur by. Craving more of him than she should, more than she could ever hope to handle, given the newness of it all. 

His thumb slips out of her languidly before easing in and hooking towards her front again, using her slick that’s leaking all over him. He applies just the right amount of pressure and rolls his digit expertly, moving with the telltale twitches and jerkiness of her hips as best he can. All these not so subtle signs that her peak is near. 

“Feels amazi...ng. Ki..kiss me…” Her rhetoric comes quiet and desperate as a pair of feral eyes close of their own volition. She grasps his forearm and pulls at the longer hair by the base of his head, bringing herself and him nearer — an act to be closer and closer still. No one’s ever needed him this close before. 

Joel shivers and kisses her. 

Their mouths meet but it’s not fervent or messy, not initially at least. Instead it’s light and vexing, like everything else he’s done to and with her tonight. The man teases her bottom lip and bites harmlessly at it for a tick, feeling as her hot air imbibes his every thought with a symphony of vinous emotion. 

Eventually, when he’s drunk enough on Ellie’s satyric tides and succumbing to the rising waters, Joel crashes into her. Teeth, lips, noses — all colliding in a clash of stardust and rust. 

He all but moans against her as they kiss; the taste of desire on her tongue is so heavily laden, so beautifully raw that he can hardly withstand the weight of it. Can hardly stop the fervor of his need. 

Eventually, Joel breaks so she can hear him clearly, “I wanna feel ya come on me, Ellie. Just like this…”

Ellie’s nod is chaotic and shaky as she rocks her hips as best she’s able with the rhythmic thrusting of his thumb. 

“That’s good, take it how you need it, baby.” 

Joel rests his forehead to her jaw and feels her warmness as he gazes south. He catches the enticing sight of her pert titties as they bounce just-so under the faded Savage tee. Sees a glimmer of shine as the runoff from her stimulated opening continues to drip-drop onto his palm, his wrist and the chair beneath his thighs. Notes those green panties, again, and a little more of that red tuft he can’t wait to earn a better view of. 

“Joel...Jo _el_.” 

Whining, aching — it’s all so deliriously intoxicating. 

“Mmph, you’re there ain’t ya?” 

“Uh huh–don’t…fuckin...fuck...ing...stop…”

He works her pussy quicker at her pleading request, rotating inside of her with a precise level of force she’s wanting to endure. He’s starting to surmise that Ellie might try to push her boundaries – and his – further each time these intensely sensual acts rise up between them. 

This time being their true first. 

At that last, the familiar sensation of what’s to be stirs low in his back and balls, becoming a testament to how right the entirety of this evening is. 

But it’s the image of her rolling on him that’s submerging Joel deeper into an abyss of unimaginable ecstasy; her movements are unsteady and jerky as her hips angle forwards and back — it’s a vision of sinful, unbridled desperation. She’s letting him fuck her this way and it’s a torment Joel prays to experience time immemorial. Everyday, every night, for as long as he has blood pumping through his arteries and into all the parts she seems to beg for. 

It’s not long after that her hands exit from his body to cup her abandoned breasts, trying to feel herself the way he felt her. Ellie impatiently kneads at her lissom flesh through the thin layer of fabric — she pinches and pulls her nipples as her head leans on its axis from the blind pleasure that’s consuming her. 

At this lustful show of hers, Joel glides his touch down her throat and keeps going, brushing atop her knuckles as passes over her hands. He’s content to watch while she ruts above him. 

“So g’damn sexy, Red,” Joel growls, words barely breaking through his clenching jaw line as this unfolds before his heavy hazels. His touch settles on her belly, below her navel and directly north of that enticing panty line. The man hovers there, deciding, considering something – he twitches in his boxers as he thinks, the head of his cock smearing a section of dark cotton with his precome. 

He decides against what he was going to do – for now – in favor of adding to her sensation instead. Anything for her. 

Joel employs his other thumb and, just as he did earlier, reaches inside of her panties to locate that wonderfully swollen nub; he depresses the tiny bulb with the calloused pad of his digit and rotates in a loose cadence of taunting circles — pressing, rubbing and moving it in all the right ways. 

He looks at the state of his girl: Both of his hands are in her underwear, stretching the delicates to the absolute limit. There’s one hand entering from each side and her legs are spread apart as far as they can go in this position. He wishes he had moved them to the couch so he could widen her even more. 

Joel visibly shakes at that, at all of it. His breath is broken by the tremors stealing through him. 

For the fire is no longer behind her but rather _is_ her; she’s an inferno, burning for him and unhinged in the most impure and private of ways. He can’t get enough of it. 

Beyond the swells of their eroticism exists something else though. Sound. 

In the hushed room with nothing more than the pops and crackles of a hearty fireplace, the alluring, wet echoes of foreplay begin to drown him: There’s the penetration of her soaking hole sucking at him and the sweet smacks of her clit as he’s playing with it. All are vying for Joel’s direct and utmost and all are winning in this immersion of noise.. 

“Oh fuck, oh...ohfuck _fuckfuck_...” 

“Good, bein’ such a good girl for me. Damn, baby. Gonna get me comin’ real soon,” he hisses, his jaw flexing as his eyes go blown with a dangerous black. 

There’s a flash of vivid jade as Ellie zeroes in on his appraising words and the dire wildness that’s so evident to his tone, “Fuck yes, come with me Joel...oh fuck...I can’t-yes yes...li-ke that…” 

He’s bending his thumb forward and pulling simultaneously, arching enough in one heading to hit the spot that will throw into a fit of rapture. 

And then he feels it. 

Ellie’s peak has her clenching violently, her contracting walls suctioning him in as the rest of her goes rigid by the sheer shock of it; a barrage of unrelenting tremors rip through in tidal waves of wondrous succession, her tendons taut and locking as she ascends. All of her limbs are shaking as she shuts her eyes again; she’s biting her bottom lip so hard he wonders if there might be droplets of blood painting her with a fresh shade of crimson by the time she’s done. 

“Fuck, fuc-kk, Joel...fuck, god it’s...you...I want-I..nneed…” 

“Whaddya need, baby? Tell me.” 

“I wan...I want you to...fuck-k me… Want you iinssside o’me...” Ellie’s hands flee from her chest to crash into his, grabbing hastily at the body-warm shirt as she grinds down onto him with even more conviction. 

“ _Fuck_ , Ellie,” he mumbles, quickly retracting one of his hands to pull the hem of his boxers away from his straining cock. He can’t believe what’s about to happen but he doesn’t want it to stop, doesn’t question it or feel a lick of shame at his response to touching her, to hearing those pleas and feeling her come undone. 

As Joel rushes through these fervent actions, the girl cracks her eyes apart and peers south in curiosity; she finally glimpses _some_ of him but it’s plentiful enough to cast an accurate portrayal of what awaits. He’s big...she knew he was but he’s... _big._ She thinks that it might be intimidating – and it is – if she wasn’t so turned on and wanton at present. 

“Oh, shit, Joel...you’re gonna-?” She stops herself as a whisper of instinct womans the helm. Her own orgasm and the aftermath it’s left of her person is, at last, beginning to settle, leaving her far more attune to this titillating current event. And far more of a mind to enjoy it. Just as he clearly did with her. 

Ellie lifts his shirt and slides it high on him, exposing that firm belly and all the corded, tensile strength he keeps hidden most of his days. It exposes the salt and pepper hair that trails from his groin to the prominence of his collarbone – this masculine layer of grayblack she wants to scrape her nails through...and all that skin she wants to kiss and taste beneath it. 

“Oh g’damn, fuck…” Joel holds the elastic waistband of his boxer briefs midway on himself — above his balls but well a ways from his head — while he finally eases his other hand out of her; his thumb is come-soaked and slippery, his palm and sections of his wrist, too. He grabs onto her hip, not to clean himself but to anchor to her sturdy structure for what he’s about to do. 

He wants to grab her ass and smack it, toss her onto the couch and give her – and him – what they both obviously want. 

Joel doesn’t do that last though. 

Control, control. 

The girl makes mark of his urgency and leans forward, shifting in – positioning her center near the bottom of his sack, which, much to her dismay, she can’t yet see. But she wants to see as much as she can, be as near to him as she can manage – wants to feel it fully, too, but something tells her there’s not enough time for him to actually fuck her. And that’s even if he _would_ go that far, which she’s not wholly convinced he might just yet. 

Still, even this inexperienced she’s able to note the precise point of no return and when it’s gone by. 

“Mmm, Joel, I wanna watch you now. Come for me?” Her lips pout, her greens go doe-eyed-wide and the man transcends into something outside of himself; he’s nothing more than a shipwreck lost to her stormy seas. 

He digs in at her waist before he yanks on the elasticity of his underwear and summarily lets go. 

Without touching himself, without her touching him, Joel orgasms. He spurts ropes of white onto his abdomen and part way up his chest as the first bout of convulsions tear through him; his hips snap upwards, fucking at nothing while instinctually pantomiming the act itself. He’s relieving himself of the desperation that has him trapped at that thin line between pleasure and pain. 

“Oh fuck, Joel. Fuck that’s hot…” Ellie watches, wanting to enclose him in her fist but partially fearful of doing something wrong. It’s the first time she’s ever seen his dick — part of it, at least — in this state; it’s a minaciously sexy thing that’s shifting on a spectrum of feral shades of red. He's stiffer than iron and coming so hard it has him barely breathing. 

Ellie wants to get him to this place again and again, wants to feel him climax from above, behind and beneath her. She wants him everywhere, in every which way. 

“Can-can I?” She poses, watching as his spasms begin to subside. She’s lending herself courage enough to do what she’s thought to do all along. Well, part of what she’s wanted, at least. 

He nods and exhales, unwilling to speak on the chance of making an utter fool of himself. Wholly unsure as to what it is she’s intending on doing with him but curious to find out nevertheless. 

Ellie keeps hold of his tee with one hand as the other descends, her fingertip tracking through his warm semen as it journeys towards its ultimate destination. She plays as she goes, but seeing it’s her first time experiencing a man climax – Joel, no less – the desire to know what his spend feels and...tastes like is occupying all her curiosities simultaneously. 

Once there, she touches the top of him, running the soft pad of her index finger against the slippery coating that’s covering there. She catches him twitch ever-so in her peripheral and bites a lip at how arousing it is to see him wasted and exposed like this. 

Without pausing to consider things and without even realizing it, the girl brings the finger to her lips and licks the fine layer of smeared come off of herself. 

“Mmm…” She steals herself and tries to memorize the tangy flavor of him – it’s salty but not overbearing with hints of something clean and sweet mixed in there to match. It’s...distinctly Joel, too. Which instantly makes it her favorite. 

After introducing her palette with that little bit of his release, she looks up to discover him staring at her, his mouth slightly askew from the smirk he’s failing to temper. 

“Oh...was that okay? I...I’m curious.”

Joel huffs and the tentative mirth turns into a smile that breaks across half of his face, “So long s’okay for you, baby, it’s more than okay for me. I like that you...do what ya want.” 

Ellie beams and wiggles her hips in his lap, aware of how messy and deliciously erotic this entire experience is with him. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t...touch you. Like touch _you,_ ya know? I was–I didn’t know if-” 

Joel leans forward in the seat, lets the band of his briefs snap above his softening cock as he palms the rear of her neck. He brings her lips to his and kisses hard, noting a tinge of himself on her that sets his teeth on edge. 

The way he wants to spill all of himself into her shakes him to his very foundations. 

But that’s not what he wants to convey in this intimate afterthought, no. He wants to shake that lack of confidence from Ellie, wants her to learn that it’s okay not to know what to do or when to do whatever it is that she feels needs doing. 

She vines her arms to his neck, allowing his shirt to dip slightly into the pool of chilled ejaculate; neither are mindful or care for the mess they’ve made – him on himself for the second time in as many days, and her on him _and_ the chair below. There’s only this moment that’s stretching on and on and nothing beyond it. 

After, he puts a few inches of space between but holds her close, “Baby, I told you, we ain’t rushin’ this. Don’t go apologizin’ for nothin’, alright?” 

Ellie nods and offers a scrunchy smile in lieu of any words that may linger on the tip of her vulnerable tongue. She wants to say so much, has a hundred questions to ask, craves to watch him finish again. But above all that, Ellie wants to know what it’ll feel like to have him come...inside of her. 

At that final realization, Ellie sniffs and immediately redirects her gaze elsewhere on his body, “We should probably get cleaned up and go to bed, huh? We’re fucking messy.”

Joel snorts but senses a slight shift in her demeanor. He doesn’t say anything, instead looks at himself and playfully smacks one of her firm, round cheeks, “I reckon that’s a fine idea. These panties though, they got me makin’ a mess’a myself. Fifty-two years old an’ look at me, woman.” 

“But you love it, right?” 

Joel’s laugh is light but it sits like an ache in his chest — if only she knew. He won’t say it yet, no matter how bad he’s wanting to. Instead he kisses her shoulder and the soft spot below an ear before opting for the safer route, “Girl, I love it more than anythin’.”

††††

He looks beautiful, she would even go so far as to say peaceful, but Joel always has that air of ease whilst asleep. It’s only during every other hour of the day that his demeanor holds a tinge of sadness, regret and another emotion that has no name. An emotion that Ellie knows of but prays she never learns firsthand.

But on this morning, and it is still early yet, he’s resting soundlessly in the safe space of his home – of their home. She chews on that choice word for a beat, reveling in the warm byproduct as the mood situates and settles within her. 

Ellie’s been awake for a while now, her acute sense of hearing being the reason for such an untimely rising. The sun isn’t up and won’t be for a couple hours, but Jackson’s team of snow-shovelers came through their street and the group was bothersome enough to rouse her. The girl doesn't mind it much, as it gives her an opportunity to enjoy the soft stillness without the stress of a nightmare...or worse. 

It lends her a respite to savor him in a different way, too. 

While it’s unfortunate that the girl doesn’t have her journal on deck, it’s ultimately of little concern. In its stead she’s stolen a few sheets of tracing paper from Joel’s woodcrafting room to use for what she’s got in mind. 

Cozy in the chair by a window, she uses a pen and pencil taken from the wooden holder on his circular table – it’s perpetually populated with at least one variant of the more common writing utensils. Pen, pencil, sharpie marker, yellow highlighter. It’s never overflowing, never doubling down on itself – it contains just what’s required. But that’s Joel – preparation is key but moderation is essential. Only have what’s up to task and nothing more. 

She smiles at the musing, her memory traveling to a place from before when every stowed ounce in their backpacks _needed_ to serve a purpose. Clothes, rations, hydration, hygiene necessities, bullets, clips, arrows and, of course, her comic issues. Essentials. Somehow he never complained about that last, although she often wondered if he ever harbored the desire to in those initial days on the road together. 

At least, before he started to find random copies scattered all throughout the country and “gifting” them to her. 

Beyond that, even this far gone from the weeks and months of going from one molted and moldy crevice to the next rotting motel room, Ellie favors how he’s kept to a minimalist lifestyle. Well, for the most part. He does enjoy his collection of books and crafting supplies nowadays _but_ he has the space to justify those hobbies and there lies the differential. 

Regardless, Joel’s known to be nothing if not consistent. Not predictable per se, but routine and extremely well practiced. She’s discovered this pragmatic side covers the full range, too; from cup holders to clothes, from whetstones to strops and everything in between. Anything that’s in good working condition and of use will remain – depending on the situation – and the objects that aren’t, get donated or stripped for parts. Nothing goes to waste so space is never wasted. 

However, there are exceptions to every rule and she remembers him sharing as much one night as they huddled by a meager excuse of a campfire. They were holed up in a ramshackle warehouse outside of Wellington, Colorado; Joel didn’t want to spend the night there but it was all they had come across after hours of walking. He made the call at the very last minute, before the sun had set and that was that. 

That night was rough: They battled wicked winter winds and incessant, growling bellies. Ellie recalls how tired she was, how her bones had throbbed and skin gone so numb that breathing had become painful. But as her jaw shivered in the cave of her cupped hands that were more blue than white, Joel slid beside her and offered his pair of patchy gloves. He knew hers had been lost after David and his cannibalistic goons looted her person and her bag — an insult to injury that happened right before they tossed her into that devilfucked cell. 

At first, Ellie flinched at Joel’s handout, until she accepted them quietly and smiled in kind – it was mostly a forced effort on her end but it was enough for him to believe he helped in some small way. And he did, he really did. But in those weeks after that lakeside resort and Todd’s burnt husk of a restaurant — with a mutilated decomposing corpse within it — Joel fought at an inherent loss with the girl. 

She winces momentarily from the image of that vile man and his head hacked into tiny pieces after she was through with him. 

_’No, no, that’s not mattered for a long time. Leave it alone.’_

Pushing beyond the darkness, Ellie loops back to that makeshift camp instead. She pulls up the anti-lesson and realizes it’s quite a simple one: Had either of them possessed more than one set of seasonal outerwear, she would have had her own and he wouldn’t have had to lend her his. The pair of which she still has to this very day. She’s unsure if he knows that or not. 

Lessons and pragmatism are beneficial but rules of that nature should always have a little bend to them. At least, that’s what she walked away with. 

Ellie smiles at the sneaky delight that seeps into her as she leans further into this pure sort of warmth – a warmth she’s forcibly forgotten for too long a time. Though, it’s far different now; the heat that rushes to fill all those hollow openings when Joel comes to mind is altering day by day, yes, but it’s this perception of herself and _parts_ of him that are changing alongside that. 

It’s intriguing, alluring and something she’s desperately chasing after with reckless abandon. Something unsuspecting and unforeseen but not unwelcome in the least. 

But the past is not why she’s awake in the present. Despite not having her sacred journal, she means to write, sketch and otherwise share the chords of her heart nevertheless. 

The girl borrows a beat, inhales the semi-chilled air and lifts the sheepskin throw higher; she’s allowing the quiet of the world to calm any echoes of threatening ghosts from remembrances’ past. 

They’re gone. 

She smooths a palm atop the crisp, flaky paper as she works it loose of any ripples or imperfections – it’s too thin for what she typically tends to use but it’s enabling the girl to try her skills at something new. New like her evening with him before they fell asleep in each other’s arms, wonderfully clean, satisfyingly spent and ready for hours and hours of oblivion together. 

Until the plow crew rolled on in. 

Before she’s butting up to annoyance again, Ellie stabs the tip of the pen to the paper and sets herself elsewhere...

 _the way my blood rushes and ~~speeds~~ races  
...the way that I want you  
the way that I want_ all _of you  
the softness of your ~~touch~~ voice  
the ease of your cadence  
I am lost I am found  
I am fondly lost  
what’s to become of us  
what’s to be done with us_

_will anyone understand?  
do you?  
do I?_

She looks over to his resting form after hastily scribbling this swell of word spit; Ellie huffs and shakes her head — that yearning, that telltale spark, all of it is blooming brighter than it ever has. 

Just seeing him stirs her, “Handsome. You’re too handsome for your own good, Joel.” 

Ellie whispers this into the silence that’s surrounding her. She notes his position in bed and the way the waning moonlight is cut as it pours through the windows; the grid lines within the glass shadow and frame his restful face in a pattern that only nature can do. Ellie wants to steal this moment. Wants to hold onto it and remember every detail. 

So, she pauses, looks from her paper to him and back again as she starts to sketch the outline of this cozy oasis before her. 

She works at it a while, drawing elements that she knows are there but cannot see in the dim lighting of the predawn hour; she marks a notch at the bridge of his nose – the scar that’s ever present and tells of a past that’s never too far behind him. She adds the scar on his earlobe, the scar on his forehead and the subtle circles beneath his weary eyes, too. Everything about him moves her in this open world they’re creating.

Ellie prays for more creations but those invite a melancholy she’s not welcome to at the moment. 

Still, it leaves her wiping a stray bead of saline from her cheek before she moves on to the next part of him: His torso. 

Ellie knows how riddled and severely marked he is from the decades he’s spent surviving; she frowns, her pen hovering above the paper in regret. He didn’t deserve any of what his life had given him, no matter how different it all feels now. 

She doesn’t want to dwell on his loss of self or his gain of scar tissue though. She wants to be in this room, using her talents to give that sexy man his due. In artwork at least. For now. 

Still, drawing Joel is nothing new, even she’s admitted as much, but drawing Joel _this_ way certainly is. This way being half-naked from the waist up while imagining the entirety of his big cock pressing into those linen sheets. Despite her mood, she won’t sketch anything lewd or lascivious tonight – perhaps in the future but for now, she wants to depict him as he is, not as she envisions. 

The girl tunes her musings to a lower frequency and slips into the blissful waters of creating for creativity’s sake. 

She goes on this way for so long – sketching, outlining, shading, erasing, rinse and repeat – until she notes the first hues of golden sunlight washing over him. The alarm will sound soon, as their scheduled shift with Tommy and the Alpine Valley Run is under an hour and half from now. 

Glancing down at her paper, she tilts her head and smiles, it’s one of her best thus far. Him, laying partially on his side, partially on his stomach with an arm beneath the soft pillow that he’s laying upon. The duvet and sheets are in a pile at his midsection and Ellie _would_ be concerned he might get cold, but Joel always feels a degree or so hotter than most. 

The girl shivers at how much she misses that warmth and decides she’s had enough sketching for the day. 

Placing the image face down, or Joel’s face down rather, she tosses the blanket onto the seat and crawls into bed with him again. She’s still in her Daniella shirt but the green panties were more than spent; instead she’s wearing a pair of his briefs and though they’re droopy and low in all the wrong places, she loves them more because of that. 

The girl worms and wiggles slowly into his embrace, lifting the full weight of his arm and wrapping it around her as she settles. She knows this might wake him at any second, but she selfishly doesn’t mind; in a very real sense, she finds herself missing the man after spending the last hour or so drawing all those appealing features of his. She misses everything — that rumbly, impressive twang, those piercing resolute eyes that change color faster than he changes clothes and all the rest, too, of course.

“Mmph, mornin’, darlin’,” he mumbles through a mess of auburn hair. She’s facing towards him but snug against his throat, pressing her lips to the lukewarm skin there; she feels the vibrations of his gravelly voice and it charges her in a way she’s not sure she wants to share just yet. Or doesn’t want to stop sharing. She’s indecisive. 

Either or, Ellie feels most whenever she feels anything from Joel. 

Aside from that, the girl can’t help but smile: Even in these chilly temperatures and halfway covered, he’s still warm. Amazing. 

“Good morning.” She nuzzles deeper into that safe space and tightens her hold, slinging a leg over his waist and pulling him nearer. “Did you sleep enough? I’m sorry if I woke you.” 

He rolls so he’s more on his flank and less on his belly and realizes the position he’s putting himself in. Oh well, if Ellie wasn’t privy to it before — somehow — she’s certainly well aware of the effect she has on him, morning wood besides the point. 

“C’mere,” Joel whispers as he brings her into his center and seals off any last lingering chasms between them. He slides the duvet up and over her shoulders, knowing that while he’s a furnace, she likes the cocoon-mood that a heavy cover provides. 

He yawns and clears his throat, “I did, an’ I don’t mind ya wakin’ me, not ever. Didja sleep good?” 

She adores how thick his accent is this early, how he’ll talk very little and yet say so much – and no matter that this is his norm at almost any time of day, she revels in it most when intimate moments like these occur. 

“I _was_ blissfully asleep. Then the snow crew fucking woke me up. But it’s fine, I’m not tired anymore.” 

“When did they come by?” 

“Couple hours ago, loud as fuck. I gotta tell Maria that shit ain’t cool.” 

Joel sniffs while absentmindedly tracing crescent moons at the small of her back, “You been up that long?” 

“Mmhm.” 

“Whaddya been doin’?” 

She giggles and bites her lip, “...Drawing.” 

“Drawin’ what?” 

“Nothing.”

“Pssh, woman.” 

“Pssh, man.” 

It’s Joel’s turn to laugh and it comes as a grumbling, guttural exhalation that originates from the solid depths within. 

“You better not be drawin’ me in the nude.” 

“You wish.” 

His laughter booms and he squeezes the girl, delighting in the simplicity of this playful banter; it’s becoming a part of their norm once more and though he loves the new path they’re on, some things are better just as they are. Her humor being near the top of that must-have list. 

“You’re cute, Red.” 

Ellie sighs contentedly in his arms; she snuggles for the sake of snuggling but it gives the young woman the time to be present and whole in a moment that lends itself to just that. 

Still, the rising sun is masterful in its endless provision of light; it paints the surroundings with all the brilliance of an array of color. There’s pale ambers, pastel pinks and a sapphire so rich and vivid, Joel wishes it could stay this way forever. For more than just the lighting, of course. 

But time marches onward and both of them know there’s a countdown tick-tick-ticking nearby. It won’t be long until the shrill siren of his alarm lets loose, signaling the start of another harsh December winter and the duties they’re required to fulfill. 

There’s an unspoken nuisance to today’s shift work though: They won’t be alone on this patrol. While that’s fine, of course, Joel and Ellie know they’ll need to do their utmost to temper any suggestive subtleties as best they’re able. 

“Wanna get breakfa-” 

Ellie’s lips are on his all of a sudden, her hands raking into his bedraggled hair and pulling it just the way he likes. 

The air is quick to occupy itself with their lustful sighs and sharp intakes of breath, everything is quick to venture into that unknowable place that’s starting to feel a bit more familiar. 

“Mmph, fuck, you...feel so...good, Joel,” Ellie murmurs, her words stretching from the minute breaks she’s taking in between licking and biting and kissing at him. 

“That a fact?”

She nods and nips playfully, feathering a sweet kiss to his healing scab as she slowly pushes him onto his spine. 

“Don’t I feel good to you?” The girl is spinning her words but there’s a splash of vulnerability there as she settles onto the firm section north of his groin. 

He knows this is all her exploring options and trying to find her sexual footing and it’s the most tantalizing behavior he’s ever been welcome to. 

“Oh, you feel good, baby. Real damn good.” 

Ellie smirks, raises her brow and reaches around the globes of her ass to grab at _him_. She pulls the band of his boxers from his heated skin and dips beneath the hem without pause or hesitation, “Good because I wanna make you...wanna feel you come this time. Wanna see _all_ of you, Joel.” 

Joel keeps his eyes on her as he bobs his head and waits for her touch; as he watches her twist and shift in place, he slides his hands along the smooth skin of her lithe thighs, kneading the flesh in anticipation as he goes. 

Ellie wastes no time leading into her exploratory efforts – it’s partly from the fear that she might lose her nerve and because she knows the alarm is prime to trigger at any second. She sidelines those distractions and all the rest, choosing instead to put herself at the mercy of this abyssal lust. It rolls in her belly like a slow moving undertow — but it feels closer to the fatal temperatures of a hot spring than any ocean that exists today. 

Her body is reacting instantly, now that it knows what he can do to her. Not that she doubted before but...well, last night wasn’t so long ago. 

Using only the tip of a finger, she traces the thick, long length of him unhurriedly; his skin is warm – hot even – but so silky smooth that it takes her by surprise. Ellie didn’t expect that. Though she didn’t know what to fully expect, _that_ was certainly not it. Eventually the logical recesses of her mind will see that it makes sense and she will love it all the more. For now, she lends her attention to the course of his cock and nothing beyond it. 

She marks the prominent lines of his veins that run south to north, revels in how pronounced and abundant they are. Those veins...

_’Fuck, just like your arms, Joel. I won’t bite these though. I just wanna lick them...wanna lick all of you…’_

It’s obvious he’s excited, very much so at that, but the way these instant responses are fueling and filling her is a thing she’ll never exhaust or tire of. Silently hopes he won’t ever mind how curious and eager she is...

After a few moments of inwardly idolizing his perfect anatomy, she starts to descend lower and lower. The girl is on the verge of cupping his sack – finally feeling all of him – when a series of muffled knocks come from the front door. 

“Fucking...fuck...er.” 

“Who in their right mind...” Joel spats, turning to read the analog clock’s weathered hands and the position they’re in. It’s only seven-ten in the morning and shift doesn’t begin for another fifty minutes. 

Ellie grimaces in exasperation, removing her hand from his boxer briefs and sliding from his waist onto the cooling sheet beside him. 

“I’m gonna end whoever it is that’s botherin’ us, don’t worry.” 

“Okay and then after you hurt them, bring your balls back because I wasn’t finished with you yet.” 

Joel laughs and steals a quick kiss before loping out of bed and adjusting himself properly; he uses the underwear’s elasticity to strap his dick to his belly versus giving all the world an eyeful. After, he throws on a pair of sweats and last night's button-up before tensely exiting the room, full up of frustration and annoyance. 

Ellie has to smile despite herself; the interruption is frustrating and annoying, yes, but seeing how agile and fast that man can be is something she’ll never take for granted. His stamina and endurance outlasts everyone she’s ever known, herself included. Earlier on, this was a facet of his she lumped into his overarching personality but now it's just downright sexy.

The implications…

She shifts, staving the desire for the moment as she wonders who might be at the house; Ellie wants so badly to go downstairs and pull her knife on the one who’s clearly chosen death this fine Monday morning. 

“Little dramatic, Williams.” The girl banters with herself as her arousal begins to ebb from his woeful absence. 

She rolls over, stares at the clock just as it switches to seven-fourteen and his alarm ticks over. Throwing an arm out, she pounds the top of the aging time-box and audibly curses at it. 

All the while thinking of if she should sneak a peek and find out who’s here.

††††

“Good morning, Joel! I see you’ve added a few decorations to the porch and the windows since yesterday—it looks really pretty! It’s very _You_ , I think. But anyway I wanted to give you my berrycherry winter wreath for this year. I’m taking one for Maria and your brother later today so I figured, ‘why not one for Joel,’ too?”

Beth Fleurs. This woman.

 _’Of g’damn course.’_

Joel squints his eyes and crosses his arms in a feeble effort to battle the cold that’s blowing in, his clothes doing little in the way of keeping him warm. He wishes he was still in bed with a certain curious and driven redhead – wants to be anywhere but right here looking at this lady. 

“Ah. Uh, thanks. An’ mornin’.”

“Shoot. Did I wake you? I’m sorry! Maybe I can come in? I make a mean breakfast sandwich...” 

Joel angles his head to one side in reaction to her stunning show of obliviousness, scratches his beard and, “Um, no thanks. You can leave that with me if you’d like. I gotta get ready for work.” 

“Oh, good, I’m glad I caught you then, figured I might have been late, funny enough. Anyway, maybe the wreath would look nice on your front door? Regardless, I appreciate you helping yesterday. Speaking of, think you’ll be able to swing over and get that closet job started soon? The drip-drops are about to drive me downright batty! If they haven’t already...” Her laugh is shrill, fake and way too much at this hour. 

Joel all but winces but tramples the urge and instead clicks his tongue, curls his bare toes to shroud them from the icy wind before, “Not sure, Ms Fleurs, but I’ll let ya know when I can. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m plenty cold.” 

“Sure, sure. I look forward to chatting again soon, Joel. And hey, be safe on shift today!” 

With that, Beth places the decoration onto the porch beside his door, smiles wide and trots away. 

Joel looks at the gaudy object, notes its colors and a splattering of random bits and baubles, before he purses his lips and shuts the door. That’s enough of that. 

Once upstairs, he halts by the bedroom entrance and leans a shoulder to its frame; Ellie is near the window, easing her worn, threadbare jeans up and over an alluringly naked bottom. She’s shed herself of his undergarments, obviously, and doesn’t seem to care that she’s starting the day without; he hopes for her sake she changes her mind...what with how cold it is and that the repeated impact of riding a horse might become bothersome. 

And because he’ll be thinking of it all damn day otherwise. Not good with his baby brother in tow. 

Still, it’s a wonderful sight to greet him after the awkward interaction with Beth and he’s grateful for it. Grateful to see more of her, too. 

“Hey.”

She spins on her padded socks and offers a tight kind of smile; Ellie appears to be rushing through her buttons, trying to hide herself as fast as she’s able. Add to that the surprise on her features at his reintroduction and Joel is more than a little curious.

“Oh, hey.”

The man’s browline pitches inwards as he unfurls his arms and studies the girl in confusion, “You alright, Red? Where’s the fire?” 

“No, yeah, I’m good. Just didn’t want to fall back asleep after the alarm went off because I was starting to feel tired and we have a long day ahead of us so I figured I should just get the hell up and get dressed and then I remembered, shit, I have no panties but fuck it, ya know, because I’ve gone without them before plenty an–” 

“Hey, hey…” Joel’s voice is soft but his grip on her arms is firm and true. “What’s goin’ on? You’re chainsawin’ an’ that don’t happen unless somethin’s up. Talk to me, girl.” 

Ellie’s chest empties itself and the sound that accompanies this is of an awful sort – similar enough that he links it with her nightmares and all the rounds of trauma she’s gone through in those first few minutes before she’s free of it all. It’s the hollowing noise, one that disturbs him to the very atoms that construct him. 

“No, it’s nothing. Doesn’t matter.” 

He chews on the inside of his cheek a spell as he mulls on the last time he’s heard those exact words from her. It’s not long until Joel remembers. 

“It’s that woman, ain’t it?” 

“What?” 

“Beth. She rilin’ you?” 

Ellie turns away, peers out the frost-clouded windows and does her finest job of avoiding him; finally, she nods and emits a quiet but revealing, “Mmhm.” 

Joel takes his thumb and index finger and pulls gently at her chin, directing those mossy greens onto his, “C’mon now. You’re all there is.”

He sees her lips quiver at that but she smiles just enough; the girl raises her shoulders closer to her ears, bobs her head and, “Thank you.” 

“How’s ‘bout we get some food an’ go meet Tommy, yeah?” 

Ellie continues on in her hushed state but loops her limbs around his waist. 

“Take that as a yes. Now gimme those lips. I ain’t gonna be able to kiss ya as much as I want today an’ that’s a sorrowful thing.” 

She laughs. 

They kiss.

††††

“You’re kidding me, you actually have to be fucking kidding me, Tommy.”

“Girl, I’ll submit to Jesus Christ himself if I’m tellin’ tales but that ain’t the case this time. Right, Joel?” 

Joel shakes his head and rolls his eyes as he steers his steed slightly askew of Ellie and his brother. The last thing he needs to be talking about is a childhood that means about as much as money does these days. Those times are long gone and with it, the majority of those memories – good and bad. They serve no purpose other than to remind him of a world that no longer exists.

Unless you’re Tommy Miller in which case, it’s open season for all seasons. 

“Oh, c’mon now, Joel. ‘Fess up to it.”

“I will do no such thing.” 

Ellie’s jaw drops as her gaze shoots from Tommy to the man riding alongside his flank, “Holy shit, it _is_ true?!” 

Tommy laughs and pats his belly, “Mmhm, that man right there walked balls-ass naked into a 7-Eleven on his fifteenth birthday. On a dare. Thought mama was gonna tan his hide so bad he wouldn’t walk for a month.” 

Ellie lists forward and nearly slumps face-first onto Shimmer’s crest as the hysterics roars through her, “What in the fuck? Why did you...what happened after? Did you walk home in the buff? Did your mom or dad pick you up from a police station? I need details!”

Joel shifts in his saddle and distractedly pats his horse – it’s a new stallion named Hopper – before he turns and licks the inside of a cheek, “I don’t believe Tommy here is tellin’ the full truth. Until that boy does, that’s all I got to say ‘bout that.” 

“Oh ya know, now that’s just a shame. Hidin’ things to save face with Ellie. We see through it, Joel. Don’t think otherwise.”

“And yet we still ain’t heard _your_ part’a the story, have we?” 

Ellie snorts but remains silent beyond that as she sits in anticipation; she’s looking between the brothers again, waiting, hopeful and optimistic that the whole story will be told. 

Silence. 

Or not a full silence anyway; there’s the metallic wet sounds of their horses’ bits as each of the magnificent beasts work them in their mouths and the steady, heavy _clipclop_ of hoofed footfall that’s out of sync but creating its own beat nevertheless. 

It’s grating. 

“Someone tell me something! We’re almost at the gate and I need to know. Tommy, what’d you have to do in Joel’s ballsy madness?” 

_’Joel’s balls. Came so close...before that bitch interrupted us.’_

“Let’s just say ten year old me wasn't no choir boy either, alright?” 

“Oh for fucks sake. Both of you are the biggest pains in my ass. Fine, don’t tell me. I don’t wanna know. No, I don’t _need_ to know.” Ellie says this but puckers her lips and contorts her features into a faux frown, hoping it’ll guilt at least one of the Miller brothers enough – especially the one she’s all but fucking these days – to fully reveal the final pieces of their trip through yesteryear. 

Unfortunately for her, neither of them budge and suddenly they’re waiting on Gate 2 to swing it’s lumbering doors and grant them admission. Their hesitance, although unsurprising, is a disappointment in that not-so-crucial sort of way. She understands how Joel can lock everything behind that firewall of his but Tommy’s not normally one to leave folks hanging. 

Whatever the younger sibling did or whatever role he played in the convenience store debauchery, is a juicy nugget of adolescence and Ellie’s wholeheartedly chomping at their bit. The irony. 

Her ploys are to remain futile though. For now.

“Well, fuck. I’ll remember this fellas.” 

Joel and Tommy wear a pair of seedy grins as they exchange a knowing sort of glance. After, the trio sets through the open entrance with not a word more.

††††

“How’s that there horse treatin’ ya so far, Miller?”

“Mighty fine, Keane. Calm when he needs to be and fast, too. Good boy. Thanks for puttin’ him aside for me. Still a shame ‘bout Balboa.” 

Keane nods as he takes the reins from Joel and leads Hopper toward the front of his stall – Balboa’s former housing; he repeats his movements with Shimmer and Tommy’s horse, a young mare named Taima. Over the next couple hours, he’ll tack each steed one at a time with the help of Sunny, the young and cheerful stablehand. They’ll see them stripped of all gear, brushed, fed and watered before letting them rest for the remainder of the day. It’s tediously rewarding work but the man from West Texas is all the better because of it. 

“Shame indeed. Glad you’re takin’ to ‘im.” 

Ellie pipes in after that, “Shimmer was a little irritable today, by the way. But I think her attitude had more to do with spending the last eight hours with these two rugged goons.” Ellie throws a thumb up and out, gesturing between Joel and Tommy. Sunny offers a loud, boisterous laugh in response. The jab has hit nicely and Ellie beams animatedly. 

“Thanks, Sunny. At least someone here thinks I’m funny.” Ellie winks at them, pats Shimmers muzzle and exits the stable alongside her male companions. 

“Hilarious. Now let’s get a proper move on. Ellie, we gotta finish decoratin’ an’ it’s already dark.” 

Tommy’s eyebrow raises as he digs his hands into the thick woolen pockets of his favorite winter coat. It’s distressed and worn looking, with minor tears and fraying threads here and there, but it suits him well and fits perfectly. All he needs. 

“Thought y’all decorated last night?” 

Joel doesn’t turn to acknowledge his brother but feels the weight of his words and considers the man’s curiosity; he seems to have suddenly taken an interest in the minutiae of him and Ellie as of late. “We started. That’s why I said _finish_ decoratin’.” 

The younger Miller clicks his tongue, “Ah, must’a missed that part. Well have fun you two. I gotta find Maria an’ see what’s what for the rest of the day. So long.” 

Joel tips his head tersely and shifts to see Ellie swinging behind him as she strikes a direct path towards Tommy, “Hey wait!” 

The man with sandy hair and a ponytail (an egregious thing that riles Joel to this very day) abruptly stops and turns to face the girl, “Huh?” 

“What’d you do?” 

“What?” 

“When you were ten. In the 7-Eleven. I swear, I won’t sleep tonight if I don’t know.” 

The brothers laugh in unison and Tommy takes a step closer and pats her shoulder, “I’m sure you’ll sleep fine whether you know or not know what I maybe did or maybe didn’t do, girl.” 

His eyes flick to his brother for an infinitesimal second before he smirks, winks and back pedals.

“What-what the fuck does any of that mean? Ugh, this is so stupidly stalling.” 

“C’mon, Ellie. That boy won’t cop to shit.” Joel tugs on her forearm and pulls it a length, just as she’s rolling her greens exasperatedly. 

The girl twirls and finds herself in the immediate space at Joel’s center; she gazes north all wide-eyed and needful, forgetting for a moment where they are. Joel’s touch has that effect.

She scrunches her nose and lays both of her gloved palms onto his layered chest, “You better tell me, Joel.” It’s a whisper, a hollow threat he knows, but her lips are close and Tommy is as far away as he’s ever been. 

The man with hazel eyes and a secret to hide continues to look longingly at her, as an arm lazily winds at her waist, “Maybe. Maybe I like seein’ you tormented a little too.” 

Tommy, who was still only a few paces to the side of this intriguing interaction, stares on and snorts, “You better not betray your baby brother now, Joel.” 

The older man swallows and angles backwards, letting loose his hold on the girl as the warmth in his eyes ices over. The shield, the preservation. 

Ellie feels his absence but accepts it as a necessity. And just like this frustratingly fresh joke that’s brewing between the three of them, she’ll let the impact of it go — for now. 

“Betray you? Hell, that entire day was nothin’ but betrayal. An’ not on my end, mind you.” 

The other Miller shakes his head, bobs in a noncommittal manner before glancing at the duo in a piquing sort of way. He doesn’t say anything, just taps a finger to his brow, turns around and walks on into the hazy white of Jackson’s wintry roads. 

“C’mon, Red. Let’s dress our house up.” 

_’Our. He said our. But-’_

“We’re not gonna use that ugly ass wreath Beth gave you, are we?” 

Joel chuckles, bumps a shoulder into hers and, “Girl, far as I’m concerned, that’ll be kindlin’ for the snowstorms comin’ later this week.” 

Ellie laughs and nudges him in return, “You’re so mean. I love it.”

††††

“Hey Ellie, hey Joel! House is looking so pretty. Like a moody, country-style home that Santa would definitely stop at for some brandy and digestives.”

Joel laughs loudly at that, his eyes squinting as he twists to glimpse the girl on the walkway, “Is...is Santa English in this vision’a yours?” 

Dina purses her lips, taps a sheathed finger to them and, “Ya know, I think he is. That’s how fancy your place looks. British fahhncy.” 

Ellie joins in the next round of laughter as she descends the last few rungs on the ladder and wipes the frost from her hands; her jeans are semi-damp and going stiff, so she hopes Joel will be quick to call it a night soon. 

“You’re ridiculous.” 

“And yet you keep coming back for more, Williams.” 

“It’s a fatal flaw.” 

“We all gotta go sometime.” 

Joel listens to the lightheartedness of their banter as he punches another nail in between the braided cord on a string of white Christmas lights. 

“So what’s up?” 

“Well, we said we’d grab a nightcap tonight after shift. It’s been a few hours and I’m thirsty, woman. And tired of waiting on your bony ass to find me.”

Joel titters from above.  
Ellie shoots him a piercing look. 

“Ahh, we did. We did. Well, I think we’re almost done here if you wanna hang out in the meantime...and maybe, I don’t know, help speed things along?” 

Dina grumbles and snaps her neck to the rear accusingly, “You’re gonna put me to work just because I wanna spend time with you? What kind of forced-labor friendship is this? I’m aghast – aghast, I say.”

“Dina, you’re welcome to stay… _without_ needin’a work. We got a pot of chicory on an’ some leftovers from dinner if you’re interested. Help yourself.”

Dina smiles warmly as she gazes high to the man kneeling on top of the porch roof, “See? _Someone_ is nice to me here. But I’ll pass on that coffee. Ick.” 

“You ladies don’t know what you’re missin’.” 

“Be that as it may, I think I’ll go see about those leftovers. Tummy is growling and Jesse is useless in the kitchen. Joel I might need you to teach that dude your culinary prowess. Really, he’s pathetic.” 

The raven-haired girl winks at Ellie before trotting the few stairs up and into the house – a home full of a cooked meal and a whole lot of warmth.

††††

The three of them are standing outside of the Miller residence in the street, their eyes glittering with tiny orbs of twinkling light and the rich, albeit simple, seasonal decor that surrounds it.

There are rows of natural garland atop every windowsill with a small battery operated candle in each to go with it. There’s rustic, mismatching bells of silver and gold that are drip-dropped here and there — from the grids on glass to the wreaths on the door and the side paneling. Strings and strings of white light lining the railing, the banister and the load bearing posts. Tiny red beading and berries sprinkling throughout. 

It’s subtle, balanced and pretty. 

“Holy jingle bells, this looks **phenomenal!** You guys better win. You probably won’t because Rhoda and Terrence – and that idiot Beth – lean more towards the frilly, glittery aesthetic but we’ll all know who Jackson’s GOAT team is.” 

Joel pauses a spell and the girls watch as he mulls on the word in his head, “Nope, no, I got it. That’s from my time, by the way. An’ thank ya, Dina.” 

Ellie grumbles at the mere mention of Fleurs but does her best to stow it – now’s not the time to taint her and Joel’s festive efforts with thoughts of that shrill, oblivious woman. 

“I’m feeling fairly confident about this and Rhoda _is_ the town’s sweetheart, despite her gaudy tastes. I don’t know, Joel, we might stand a chance yet.” 

Dina grips her best friend's shoulder and nods, “Stranger things have happened.” 

Ellie shrugs and spins her greens, “I’ll take that vote with a grain of salt but appreciate it regardless because I’m amazing like that, thank YOU very much.” 

“Mmhm, sure sure. Now, I’m fed and hydrated – not chicoried, thank God – wanna get going? And hey, you wanna join us, Joel?” 

Joel is rubbing his gloved palms together and blowing steamy air into them when Dina presents the offer. 

He wasn’t expecting that. 

“Oh, uh, thanks Dina, but I’ll leave y’all to it. Need’a tidy the kitchen an’ work on some Christmas gifts. But I appreciate it.” 

Ellie smiles to herself as she subconsciously turns away from them; she thinks of her conversation with Dina on Sunday and how her friend knows what’s been going on – thinks then of how she’s not yet shared this with Joel. Regardless, it soothes her to believe that her friend may be opening up to him because she knows how important he is to Ellie. Add to that the fact that a lot _has_ happened since that garage chat and Ellie finds herself semi-nervous but content all the same. 

Still, she needs to decide if she’ll share an update on their intimacy or keep those details for her and him only. Time will surely tell. 

“Well, it’s a standing offer, ok? One of these nights we’ll wrangle you from your creature comforts. Show us how a real Texan can handle his whiskey.” 

Joel snorts, drops his chin and smiles, “Fair is fair.” 

“I’ll see you later, Joel?” 

It’s a question, not a statement. He knows what she means. 

“I’m certain of it. Have a good time.”

††††

“Okay so I know we said drinks at the Bison and good time chats, but I’m wondering if we can do something else instead?”

Dina hooks her arm into Ellie’s and props her chin onto the side of the girl’s shoulder, “What’d you have in mind?” 

“I need...or no. I wanna rifle through your closet and find something specific for the Ho Ho Hoedown. I have an idea in mind but I don’t think there’s enough time to ride to the strip mall before Saturday night. I mean, I could squeeze it in but I’d rather not. Weather is getting nastier the closer to Christmas we get.” 

Dina is grinning from ear to ear. 

“A DRESS UP PARTY? Ellie, doth my ears deceive me?” 

Two eyes as green as the jade sea roll just as quick as its waves, “Ya know, I knew you’d make a big deal out of this. Forget it, nope. Let’s just go get tipsy and pretend I never said anythi–” 

“Oh no way missy, you opened that door and we are walking through it. This is happening. And besides, I think I have _just_ the thing for you.” 

After the chilly jaunt from Joel’s place to Asher Ave, where Dina lives, the girls see themselves inside her modest but cozy home. She lives alone for the most part, with Jesse being her most frequent house guest, and she takes great care and pride in making her space her own. 

The decor is a mix of retro artifacts and modern design she’s commissioned from carpenters around town – a 1970’s Nordic appeal she goes to great lengths to maintain and enrich. Ellie likes it; it’s not her style but it suits Dina and her personality and that’s all that matters. 

She settles onto the mustard-colored couch and rubs her knees back and forth, back and forth. The winters here are always harsh but this year it feels especially bad. It’s no real concern though, at least not for her when she has a gorgeous six-foot furnace waiting at home for her. The girl smiles to herself, delighting in the idea that she has someone the way she’s beginning to have him. The way he’s beginning to have her. It’s comforting in immeasurable ways. 

From somewhere far away, Ellie notes the telltale echoes of snapping fingers and an amusing tone, “..lloooo? Ellie? Helloooo?” 

She comes to and raises her eyes to find her girlfriend standing halfway up the staircase. “Are ya joining me to closet dive or what?” 

“Oh shit, yeah, sorry. Cold as hell and I think the frost has gone to my brain.” 

“Something’s gone to that brain of yours but I don’t think it’s the cold, El. Sorry to say.” 

Ellie playfully shoves Dina and sucks her lower lip shyly, “Alright, let’s get this over with.” 

“Don’t sound so miserable – you did ask me for this, if I recall correctly.” 

“True and then I immediately regretted asking but someone won’t let me out of what is, apparently, a binding contract.” 

“See? You get it. Now let’s go. The world may be shit and supplies limited but I’m a closeted fashionista dammit and you’re gonna reap the benefits of it.” 

Ellie laughs at that last, knowing fully well there’s nothing ‘closeted’ about Dina Pereria and her affinity towards style. The whole town knows it, despite the fact that the girl tends to hide this facet of herself more often than not. It’s a curiously hidden aspect to an otherwise outgoing, and sometimes outlandish, personality. 

She’s always liked that about her. 

Once in the girl’s bedroom, which is immaculate and matching in color swatches and patterns to the rest of the house, Dina slides open her closet doors and, “Ta daaa! Okay. So tell me first what you had in mind and we’ll work outwards from there.” 

“Uhh…green.” 

“Green?”

“Green...and tight.”

“Okaaaay. Green and tight. That’s a start.” 

“I have the top already, just need a base. And...nice shoes maybe? I don’t know. I don’t wanna overdo it and make it seem like I’m _trying_ too hard.” 

“Oh, because heaven forbid you dress semi-formal and the town sees? Or...is it because Joel will see?” 

“The town! I...want Joel to see. I mean, obviously he will but what the fuck ever.” 

Dina approaches her friend and kneels ahead of her, “It’s okay to want these things for yourself, Ellie. You’re allowed to wear whatever the hell you want. If it’s jeans and a hoodie with those converse kicks you’re so obsessed with _or_ a pretty skirt and chunky-heeled boots, you can wear the fuck out of it. Screw anyone who says otherwise, okay?” 

Ellie smiles and nods, she wants to hug this girl, maybe even give her a peck for those remarks but she’s not sure what protocol is these days. They’re best friends sure but they did kiss and now they’re both sort of with someone else but not officially? It’s a strange, partly tensile type of moment but it passes just as quickly as it comes.

“Thanks, Dee. You know me too damn well.” 

The other girl rises and moves to her grandiose closet once more, “That I do. Okay, so green and tight bottoms. Oh, holy fucking shit. I literally _have_ the exact thing you’re looking for. Oh my God, oh my god, where the hell is...it...dammit I...know...it’s in...here somewhe-YES!”

After a frantic minute or two of her stuttering and flailing through a wild search, she pulls a shimmery pair of bright green leggings from the depths. 

“Look!” Dina thrusts them outwards and pulls one of the legs taut, moving it this way and that to catch and refract the bedroom light that’s pouring down from the apex of the yellow ceiling. 

“What...where did you find these? And are those...is that a teeny tiny candy cane design on them?” 

Dina bounces, unable to contain the mirth and excitement of this perfect situation, “They for sure as shit are. And I found these _years_ ago in this untouched Christmas village. Before I even made it to Jackson actually. I was in Oregon and they were the last shop I went into. They had a barrel full of these just sat there by the cashier’s counter. They were sealed in this thick plastic, too. Felt like I won the lottery. Or felt as good as whatever the fuck that meant to people back then.”

“I fucking love them...they better fit. How many pairs did you snag?” 

Dina grins and wiggles her eyebrows, “Two. A green pair...and a red.”

Ellie murmurs a low laugh – they’re both thinking the same thing. 

“Okay so here’s where I’m at: I’m wearing this oversized, ugly Santa sweater that’s absolutely my favorite. It’s one I found at the chalet from the night I spent there with Joel. Stop giving me that look and listen. ANYway, I’ll wear these bottoms with that festive top – and a pair of whatever crippling boots you suggest – but maybe you can don the red ones and Seth can eat shit when he sees?” 

Dina emits an evil sort of sound – the classic malevolent standard of a laugh in circumstances like these – and the girls nod schemingly to one another. A plan is forming. 

“I cannot wait. I’ll wear a different top because you know me, ugly and oversized ain’t my bag, girl. But I do think you should be careful.” 

Ellie stops unfolding the leggings, caught off guard by the rapid shift in Dina’s voice, “Huh?” 

The girl gestures to the candy cane bottoms and, “Joel might have a heart attack when he sees your ass in those.” 

Ellie stifles a bout of giggles and instead snorts, “I don’t know if that’s an age joke against him or a compliment to me but either way, touché.” 

“Column a, column b. But before I settle on which pair of dangerous shoes for you – any preference between six or seven inch-tall heels? – have there been any further...developments with your rugged better half?” 

“You better be fucking around with that six or seven-inch shit, Dina, I’m serious. It’ll end me in front of everyone and then I’ll have to end you.”

Dina raises and drops her shoulders while peering upwards in a teasing, feigning manner, “Sure, right, yes. End me all you want but you didn’t answer my question after that.” 

“Because you’re trying to kill me, woman! That sort of thing usually distracts from any other point of interest, ya know, as murder typically has a way of doing.” Ellie moves to hang her shiny new pants over the curvy top of Pereria’s footboard.

“Okay, okay, all jokes aside, has there been anything new in the last thirty-six hours or what? You’re holding out on me.” Dina’s curious, Ellie can read and tell as much. 

At that, flashes of her and Joel from last night and earlier this morning play in the reel of her mind, her heart starting to beat faster and pupils blowing marginally wider. She fidgets with her digits, completely unaware that she’s doing this, before taking a seat on the edge of the bed. 

_“Well…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First and ALWAYS: THANK YOU! Thank you all for your continued interest, affection and the outpouring of energy you've put into this story. It's an absolute joy to write and share with you all the nitty gritty, day to day movements of these, my most treasured pair of characters. Fictional or not, pixel or not, they're well loved through and through. I cannot express my gratitude enough but I will never stop trying. <3
> 
> Onto some notes!  
> • So...about that sexy scene. I wanted it to be FULL but...not full-on, if ya catch my drift. It'll be a while yet before these two take that final plunge, but again, we **are** going to have some fun along the way. I hope THIS was fun.  
> • Ellie being woken up but not from a nightmare – did it prevent another round of those hellish scenes or was she satiated enough to have slept right on through? Either way, she got a little bit of a break this chapter and we did, too.  
> • Ellie journaling and sketching Joel. I know, I know. We all want her to draw that big ol' swingin' d...but for now, this girl is content to show him as he is. She's falling in love, is IN love (right?) so in that haze of newness, she wants to reacquaint her talents with him under this fresh gaze. Still, she'll get filthy at some point, whether he knows about it or not. ;)  
> • Mornings with these two are some of my favorite things. I hope you're not tired of them yet.  
> • Beth. Damn. Fleurs. Who does this woman even THINK she is? Someone's gotta put her in her place. Luckily there's a public function on the horizon with plenty of folks to witness, _should_ such a thing happen.  
> • Joel, Ellie, Tommy. How I love these three together and weaving some of the brother's history into the present. And we can surmise Joel and Ellie were careful through most of the day but that little bit at the end... uh oh. Or oh yes. I suppose we'll see.  
> • Decorating and Ellie and Dina and Joel and Joel and Dina... my heart.  
> • Dina and Ellie. These two – what fun it is to write their friendship and explore all the ways these two know one another. And yes, yes, I know I fail the Bechdel Test miserably but oh well, it's my story and they're going to talk about Joel and that's that. I mean, who wouldn't? 
> 
> And that's chapter 11! I wanted to get us to the Ho Ho Hoedown this week but alas, the chapter would have been 20k words long and taken a few more days to deliver. But I've recently made a pact with myself to write every day going forward. Which means no lengthy breaks, yes, but no stopping as a general rule. That said, I don't know if I'll make the Christmas drop. It'd be a Christmas...miracle if that were to happen. But like Dina said, stranger things have happened. ;) 
> 
> Thank you all SO so very much. I hope everyone staying safe and enjoying this holiday season! xx


	12. & Lucent Ardor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a flashback with Joel, Tommy and a long forgotten woman from Joel's past; during those years as a Hunter, what sort of man might Joel have been and how might this have affected his younger brother? After, Joel gets ready for the Ho Ho Hoedown, then brotherly chats with Tommy at the church hall before...Ellie arrives. The night goes from there...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. I'm certainly the tardy one this ...year aren't I? Be that as it may, I wanted to first extend my endless gratitude for your patience! The holidays really blacked out one too many writing days and thus, pushed this chapter farther and farther from its due date. Still, I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday season and a safe, Happy New Year! 
> 
> As always, more notes at the close. x

“You ain’t gotta clean everyone’s mess at the end’a the night, Ama. Leave that shit.”

“It’s no bother. Distracts me.”

A pause, a beat — an indomitable respite where the subtle pops of slow-burning firewood sound like sonic booms. Then a tentatively invasive, “...From?”

She sighs hushedly, mulls on the direction this is taking and what may lie at the root of it. The young woman knows the answers to both. Still, she assesses the man quietly and in her own way; with subtlety and timid observation, she’s deducing there’s something untoward constricting him at present. It’s hidden within those guarded depths, in the restricted canyons of those hazels that betray no truths, that give no hints to what lies beyond. _If_ anything does exist in that great and gruesome beyond. 

Despite this lack of clarity, of connection, she can sense his darkness all the same. 

The girl — Amalie— is in her mid-twenties with dirty-blond hair and ice-gray eyes; she’s been running with Joel and Tommy’s crew for the past four years, traveling with this weary pack of wanderers as they keep south of the Mason-Dixon Line. Well they try to, for the most part. 

Ama rubs her wrist and takes a few steps towards him, “Something on your mind, Joel? You don’t normally talk this much to me. Or at all.” 

He blows a puff of smoke from his Marlboro, tosses and tramples the wasted thing into the dewy grass and then, “Sorry ta bother ya. ‘Night.”

He turns away slowly with a rigid determination to leave or stay, or both, none of it is exactly clear. To either of them. Ama notes that his jaw is tight but not clenching, his fists, too. 

Subtle tells reveal themselves. 

She drops her gaze and cleans her tired hands with a viscid towel that’s almost always draping atop a shoulder. It’s of little use — the girl might as well have dragged them across the ground for all the effort she’s managing to put forth. 

A redirection needs to occur.

In that space where decisions must be made, Ama studies his stiff gait and feels her heart beat faster, senses her pupils dilate – she knows her world is opening up just a little more. Again. Before it crashes down. Again. 

Every time he gets like this she has a choice.  
She knows what she’ll choose.  
Every time. 

Jutting her head to one side, the girl angles forward and clasps his forearm, “No, wait. I’m sorry. Long day. Tidying takes my mind off of, ya know, things. Life. Whatever.”

Joel halfheartedly turns around, granting himself a taste from the half empty bottle of Jameson in his grasp. He sucks his teeth after an audible swallow, “I do know.” He hones in on the hold she has of him and follows it north to her piercing slate. She’s weighing her options, weighing the wisdom of her heart.

He knows he’s got her. 

“It’s…sort of the only time I have some inner peace. Even if I make a mess of myself looking after you lazy lot.” 

Joel lends an impartial smile, adjusts his stance and leans the majority of his weight onto a duct-taped heel. 

“Mhm. You done yet?” 

“Cleaning or talking?” 

“Both?”

Ama’s expression sours a tick before she glimpses the hint of mirth on Joel’s semi-inebriated features. That same look that hooks her time in and time out, over and over.

“Ahh, talking _and_ teasing now, huh? What’s the special occasion?”

“Maybe. It’s...been a while. For us.” 

Amalie tosses the filthy rag onto a nearby bench and pulls her hair into a messy bun. She’s not sure what he’ll want, she never is, at least not until they’re well into whatever he’s in the mood for. Still, she knows it’s best not to waste any time or she runs the risk of the man changing his mind. She doesn’t want that either. 

It _has_ been a while. 

He digs the bottle into the solid earth below, watches for a spell as its liquid lists heavily to one side while idly wondering where the cap might be. He doesn’t want to chance wasting any. Booze is too rare a commodity these days to lose by such a negligent act. 

He nods to no one as he finally remembers: The aluminum lid is on the rickety table by his bed. “Bed,” being a handful of thin blankets and a single sleeping bag piling atop each other. Luxury. 

Bed also being where he was, drinking himself part way into oblivion before thoughts of Amalie and that round ass of hers started to cycle through. He was of a mind to handle himself or ignore it and roll over, but alcohol always loosens his reserve. Thus leaving him to come outside and find the girl in her usual habitat. The rest will likely be repeated history. 

She tilts, leans in to him as she rubs his weather-beaten skin with the pad of her thumb, “That it has. Thought you moved on from me. Nikki’s sorta cute. And she likes you.” 

“Nikki’s a whore. I don’t fuck whores.” 

Ama’s eyes briefly widen at that — the tone of his voice is serious and deadly resolute. 

She immediately redirects. 

“Who do you fuck then?” 

“You.”

Ama gulps and licks her lips, “Then stop talking and fuck me.”

Joel steps to the girl and grabs the rear of her neck, pulling her mouth to within an inch of his, “Get down on ya hands an’ knees.”

It’s a snarling sort of demand, his teeth lining together behind his whiskey-slick lips that are barely moving. 

It doesn’t rattle her. It’s just his way.

“Wait. You mean...out here?” A slim finger gestures aimlessly to the open space as her vision clouds with stark apprehension. They’re standing near the center of the fire pit and the gang’s cooking and laundry stations — there’s no shelter, no privacy of any kind. It’s far too public a place. Add to that the scattering tents and full shanties that circle this makeshift hub and the vulnerability of any lewd act is enough to leave her wholly nervous. Anyone could hear them and come looking...or worse. 

Though she’s been mostly fortunate, Ama knows not everyone in this wayward group of sojourning souls are inherently good like Joel and Tommy Miller. Good in _that_ regard, at least. 

Joel sighs and scratches an eyebrow, “Tommy’s sleepin’ in there. So, s’either out here or in there. What’s it gon’ be? Ya want it or not?” 

Ama’s heart twinges as she imbibes the last remnants of her dignity, “In there. I’ll be quiet.” 

“Good. Don’t need that boy gettin’ on my case again.” 

They enter the hastily built cabin and take a hard right towards Joel’s partition. The room is barely larger than what an American prison cell once was but it gets them out of the elements and that on its own makes it adequate enough. Ten years into this post-apocalyptic nightmare and there are few comforts like a semi-sturdy roof overhead. Makeshift or not.

He touches the small of her back as he steals a glance to the opposite end where his kin lies. 

Tommy is snoring softly, his breathing rhythmic and restful. Joel wouldn’t care if the man was awake or not, but now that he knows his brother is likely down for the count, he can go a little harder on the girl. 

Which is precisely what he needs tonight. 

“Jeans off. You had’a wash recently?” 

She smirks, “What, you gonna put your mouth on me first?” 

“No. Just don’t wanna catch nothin’ if ya ain’t takin’ care to clean yourself.” 

She throws her jeans and panties onto the floor and grimaces, “I’m the crew medic _and_ the unofficial maid. All I do is clean and take care of things. Don’t be an asshole, Joel. I’m not in the mood.” 

They’re whispering in hushed, terse tones; hers is filling with ire while his begins to empty of whatever warmth he might have been harboring at the beginning of this. 

“Fair enough.” 

The majority of her simplistic attire is gone now, minus the thin, threadbare bra that’s latching on by a sheer force of will at this point. She turns slowly, glimpsing his wandering gaze as it roams her body with his hands lingering by his belt all the while. Ama flattens both palms gently to his chest as she feels the unyielding flesh beneath his filthy shirt. She’s kneading him, angling closer while seeking an intimacy she knows he’s incapable of. 

Ama pops the buttons one by one, descending languidly in spite of the fact that she knows this won’t last. He won’t allow it to. 

Not soon after that very thought, Joel pushes her hands away and gestures towards the smelly mass of rumpled covers and the sleeping bag below. 

“Down. Now.”

“You sure know how to woo a girl, don’t ya.”

“Ama.”

“Okay, okay. Geez.” 

She does as she’s told, finding a suitable level of padding beneath her knees and elbows as she properly positions herself. Just the way he likes. As far from personal as it can get. 

No matter, she’ll make the most of it, just as she always does. 

The girl bounces her bottom ever-so as she listens to the heavy metal of his buckle as he unfastens it in quick succession. Hears its clanking cease abruptly as the thing falls in a heap to the dry soil by his boots, the earth absorbing the last echoes of that dividing line. 

She shivers as a roar of sensation flies from the stem of her outwards, flooding her frazzling limbs with desirous fire and deeply seeded shame. 

She wants this but she doesn’t want it _this_ way. But it’s all this man knows how to give. All he has to offer. And as far as Amalie knows, she’s the only one he gives it to, so it needs to be enough. For both of them. 

He handles her cheeks first, as he always does; Joel grips tight to the full, taut globes and presses himself against her malleable bottom, spreading her open to get to more of her. It’s his turn to feel, all skin on skin, as he seats into this frame of mind and no other. 

She’s slippery and dripping already. Prepared to take whatever he gives her. 

“Wet as hell.” 

“Do something about it.”

She knows the clock is ticking. Knows that at any moment he could decide to stop and unceremoniously see her from his quarters. It’s happened before. She doesn’t know why and she won’t ever ask. He doesn’t have… _problems_ with his cock or his head, so she deduces it’s somewhere in between those two that causes the stilted shift. Again, all that uncharted territory – and it’s a lot – is wholly off limits when it comes to Joel Miller. 

“Smart mouth on you.”

_“...Do something about it.”_

There’s a low grumble rising up from his abyssal depths but the girl feels the noise more than hears it. Amalie doesn’t think he’ll stop this tonight. Doesn’t believe he could if he tried. Something’s on his heart, of that much she’s sure. Joel never plays with her otherwise. 

He slips a pair of fingers into her without prompt or pomp — just enters in the girl’s wetted center to widen and stretch her as best he can for as long as he’s able. 

“Tight.” 

“‘Cause you don’t fuck me enough.” 

He growls at that, an arousing, threatening sort of sound more than anything, before his fingers are out and coating his hard cock with her slick. He hovers by her asshole a moment before remembering that Amalie isn’t that other girl – what was her name? – and then slips his tip into the only opening that will have him. 

“Mmph…” Ama whispers, biting her lower lip and gripping hard to the makeshift dressings crumpled in her grasp. 

He pushes in, not slow but not all that fast either. He doesn’t want to hurt her but he doesn’t want to pretend this is anything other than what it is. Fucking for fucking’s sake. 

With only a couple of inches left to go before he hits past her limits, Joel snaps his hips forward and the girl winces, arches her back and lowers her head. She curls inwards, trying to measure her breaths and adjust to him. He’s uncomfortably big, a man with a cock that’s both thick and long – but he knows how to use it and that’s why she’ll take the temporary shots of pain. Still, he’s all business and she needs to remind herself of that again and again. 

_“Fuck.”_

“Hush yourself, woman.” 

“Take it easy then.” 

“Ya know how this goes.” 

She grunts and raises her head, looks past a shoulder at him, “Do you need to hurt me to prove something to yourself tonight, Joel?” 

“Am I hurtin’ ya?” 

She knows he isn’t. Not physically at least but her heart... 

“...No.” 

“Then stop stallin’ an’ take it.” 

She does. 

They continue on like this for a while, his hands on her hips, her ass and her shoulders but never her breasts. She has a history of her own when it comes to handling those and he knows they’re well and truly off limits. Respects that much about her but not enough to ask why. 

Sometimes she wishes he would ask. She would tell him. 

The girl senses as he starts to get wiry, all that ferric strength tightening like a feral thing priming to strike at its prey. He’s going to come soon. She won’t, she rarely does and he doesn’t care enough to bother with it. 

Sometimes she wishes he would. She would love that.

Amalie shakes her head and grits her teeth as she bears down on him and rolls her hips greedily; she’s earning the only sort of praise she’s able to when it comes to this man. 

Well, that and another way. Speaking of... 

She rises up onto her knees and lays her head to his shoulder; presses her lips to just below an ear, “Wanna finish in my mouth?” 

He grunts and fucks into her harder, then pushes her back down again before abruptly flipping the girl onto her back in a blurry of movements; she hisses from a sharp pain of something jabbing into the pliable flesh of a cheek, “The hell…”

She ignores it, he does, too, and instead rubs her ass while properly setting her bearings. Ama wastes no time: She encircles his dick and brings her swollen sex to meet it, taking Joel back into the place she longs for him the most. Where she wishes he would let go and empty inside of her, if only just one time. 

It’ll never happen. 

She’s half sitting, half laying as he fucks her and Ama reaches outwards to touch anything she can. His abdomen – that sculpted belly with dark hair and far too many scars already. His hips – lithe but wide and as strong as an ox while proving it with each fearsome thrust. His arms – built like the rest of him and capable of such extreme violence that she should be more afraid of them than she is. 

He’s thirty-eight years old to her twenty-six but age, time and experience mean nothing in their world, at least not to her when it specifically concerns him. It’s evident that he’s taken an interest in his own rite and whatever that is needs to be sufficient for Ama – even if it never will be. And she knows it’ll never be enough. Not really. 

“You feel so fucking good, Joel.” The girl angles herself higher, trying to earn a means to an end – an end she’s wanted for so long but he’s never given her. Well, _one_ of the things she wants the most, at least. She knows the other one is as impossible as the world returning to what it was before it burned to the ground. But she remains ever hopeful. 

Tonight could be the night. 

Using one hand, she grabs his collar and hastily pulls him to her, “I...please, just...kiss me?” 

Joel clenches his jaw, closes his eyes and casts his head downward. There’s a momentary charge to the air, as though the very essence of their sex is balancing above them before, “No.” 

She deflates and releases his flannel, let’s herself fall apart from him as she institutes more distance instead of the closeness she desperately seeks. Desperately deserves. Still, while nothing has been gained here, nothing is lost either. Status quo. 

“You...ready?” 

His speech is breaking while hers uniformly lost for the foreseeable future, “Mmhm.” 

He pumps into her a few more times, his skull throbbing from the booze, his balls aching for relief while his heart beats cold and unfeeling in the midst of it all. A ghoulish trifecta he actively avoids at all costs...until he’s mostly drunk and this girl fucks around with his barriers without ever knowing it. 

Excuses, excuses. 

After one final thrust, he pulls out and is on the verge of hurriedly grabbing himself when Ama beats him to task. She takes Joel’s cock deeply into her waiting mouth — as far as he’ll go. Or, as far as she’s able to manage. The girl sucks and swallows, sucks and swallows, spilling not a single drop as he shoots into her. He stills her head there, cradling her jaw with one hand and a fistful of her hair with the other as he shakes his way through his orgasm. 

He wants to snap and jerk his hips into her, fuck himself so far down her throat that her eyes roll and she slaps at a thigh or his belly to ease up, but he won’t do that. She’s a good girl for the most part. Not like Nikki or a couple of the others who suck him off every once in a while after they’ve all but begged to do it. They claim its compensation for him keeping them safe or something in that vein of thought. He doesn’t give a shit why they want it, he just takes and that’s that. 

After those brief encounters – and much later on – he wonders if those women are blowing his brother, too.  
Figures they must be.  
Doesn’t care.

Thinks Ama probably doesn’t fuck around with Tommy though.  
Either way, he doesn’t care. 

Aside from those other unmentionables, Amalie is so good at this even with the absence of that dynamism of power-play; she’s all but an expert now, in comparison to when they first started these infrequent trysts of theirs – certainly the quick-to-learn type. 

The girl was twenty-two at the time and a virgin. Joel cursed himself after she finally admitted that he was her first – because not only did that revelation stab at him but she also made a point _not_ to share that until long after the fact... _weeks_ after, if he recalls correctly. 

After they had already fucked a few times. 

That’s when he began to ease back on their private meetings, after he learned of that. He’s still not entirely sure why. 

Even now though, as he coats her throat with his hot spend, the man remembers thinking she _was_ unbelievably tight that first time, too jittery and uncertain about her actions, too; her age was confusing and the main reason as to why he didn’t outright ask if she was new to sex. He wanted to but was already pushing himself inside of her and she seemed all the happier for it. 

That’s when he knew what he meant to her. 

Perhaps that’s why he pulled the brakes between them... 

But right now, in this place, the girl sucking on him is no virgin. He peers south to glimpse her lapping and licking at his softening cock, the tip of her tongue ghosting over his glistening head as she gently palms his balls. He twitches, sniffs sharply and offers as genuine a smile as he can manage. It doesn’t reach his eyes but it’s enough that she knows she did a good thing for him. 

Joel knows she needs to hear it though. He’ll give her that at least. 

“Mmph, good job, Ama. Ya know I like that mouth’a yours.” 

“Only when it’s full, right?” 

“Ha, touché, girl.” 

She returns the same kind of grin – halfway but doing its best to hide the pangs of her breaking heart all the while. He can see it, recognizes all of those secrets she tries to keep that are as visible as the rising sun. But it doesn’t affect him, not really. Not anymore at least. 

It’s not long until he’s fixing his jeans around his waist again and looping the belt through threadbare hooks — Amalie knows her time here has come to its conclusion. She mirrors his movements, dresses herself and steals a glance towards Tommy, “Hope we didn’t wake him.” 

“He’ll live if so.” 

Ama’s light eyebrows arch at that and she nods, knowing this man – the man she can still taste on her tongue, can still feel the ache left by his vacancy between her legs – doesn’t care for a single person in this room, himself included. 

“Well, goodnight then.” 

She turns away, is at the door and twisting the handle when, “S’late. No more cleanin’, alright?” 

The girl lightly snorts and shrugs, “Or what?” 

Joel huffs playfully, “That mouth’a yours.”

††††

After he hears Joel settle onto his pisspoor excuse of a bed – much like his own – Tommy rolls supine and sighs in silent disappointment. It’s a somber exhalation of every unspoken emotion, a resignation that tells of what’s become of the man across the room. Cold, callous, unfeeling. Uncaring to his very core.

Tommy often wonders if Joel even wants him around still. Would he care if he left tonight or died tomorrow? He can’t be certain. 

Regardless, the past decade _has_ been miserably unjust to everyone, for Tommy as well, but Joel is...something else these days. He’s more machine than man, a black hole that consumes and receives without consequence. The younger Miller understands this and has for some time but tonight, the stunning lack of intimacy in the most intimate of acts has brought a realization beyond just a _knowing_. There’s a dreadful acceptance to it now. 

Joel, or the Joel he once knew, is well and truly gone. 

Tommy feels a certain vein of sorrow towards the girl that’s just taken her exodus; he knows about Amalie and his brother’s...sessions, even the moments that aren’t so blatant as their time here tonight was. Also knows how much she cares for the man and all the ways she powerlessly pines for him – pining to an extent the younger Miller cannot make heads or tails of. It’s that quiet sort of longing, the unsuspecting, imperceptible kind of...love. 

He’s been balancing whether or not to tell Ama that Joel is a waste of her time and energy but if she’s unaware of his brother’s charades by this point, there’s nothing more he or anyone else can do to convince her to walk away and stay away.

No, Tommy thinks that Ama is well-versed in exactly who Joel is and what that man is about. And there’s the greatest loss of all. For her, for Joel and for Tommy who once had a good man to look up to and learn from. 

But those days ended in a broken symphony of strangled cries and desperate, unanswered pleas.

††††

It’s Saturday night in Jackson, Wyoming, nearly a quarter after six. The yearly Ho Ho Hoedown is finally upon the town and after a week of preparations, brightly colored posters and Christmas contests, the town is buzzing for a good time.

 _’Shit... Who you tryin’ to impress, ya damned fool? Maybe this is too much.’_

Joel inwardly scrapples as he fusses with the soft buttons on his hunter-green vest, twisting them this way and that; his inner dialogue is lancing and accusatory but mostly in line with the ping-pong rhetoric he privately keeps concert with as of late. It’s been ebbing the last few days but in moments like these – where he’s nothing if not a fish out of water – Joel is feeble to cease the familiar targeting. 

He sucks in an electric surge of sizzling nerves – nerves he doesn’t recall feeling in ages, if ever; it’s a distension of anticipation that’s crashing ashore like a hurricane of velvet azure. All vivid and ornate and...good. _Right._

But the longer he dawdles and readies himself, the more obvious it is that Joel’s never tapped into this vein of lucent ardor. Not with anyone or at any moment he can recollect with absolute clarity. Not like he’ll remember this and all his moments with Ellie. Those are in his brain like a picture show of love, loss and love anew. 

_’Fifty-damn-two years old an’ this girl got me outta sorts.’_

Wait. He’s wrong about that last part...sort of. There _was_ one moment that saw his body wracked, worried and excited all at the same time. But that was an altogether different and unique sort of enthusiasm. An experience he’s felt once, and it will likely be the only time he ever does. 

Sarah’s birth. When he was sixteen. Six-damn-teen. 

He pushes that memory away as fast as it comes and moves to brush his hair up and off into a single direction; he’s styling it in a way that shows most of his forehead and with it, a lot more of his gray. Joel notes the scars, the age lines and every cutting crease that carve valleys into his weathered skin; he can’t stifle the grimace that marks his face, despite it adding to his overall dismay. Maybe it’s a bad idea to try new things...

The man calls for a temporary treaty with all these subtle and not so subtle changes to his outward appearance. Nothing he can do about time and all the life he’s lived by being a willful part of it. 

But it is enough for him to mentally usher himself onward, and so he does. 

Joel smooths his palms over the freshly-made woolen fabric that’s adorning his torso and lends the tailor a smile she’s not privy to at present. Perhaps later at the Hoedown he’ll seek her out and share his appreciation for such fine craftsmanship. Done in short order, no less. 

Nearly two weeks ago, around the time Ellie collided into his world in a fit of fright, he did something absurdly out of character: Joel commissioned a semi-formal vest as an addendum to his planned Christmas wear. The fact that he planned anything was unheard of unto itself but then he went and did this, pooling to his own confusion all the while. 

He ordered it from Cara, giving the woman a roundabout idea of what he was envisioning and then – much to his own surprise – attended a fitting session at her shop. Wildly, deeply out of his wheelhouse. 

In spite of this unfamiliar territory, there was something leading him to go that extra mile; Joel is the kind of man that either does or doesn’t. This time, he did. Simple as that. 

As a murmur gathers in the hollow of his torso at such contrasting actions, he shakes his head and accepts the situation for what it is. Nothing more, nothing less. 

From there, Joel folds the ebony sleeves of his dress shirt neatly into the bend of his elbows – it’s the first time he’s wearing this top and the fabric is crisp and stiff. He’s lucky there’s no dry rot. As he tucks and rolls, the man muses on the sweet tailor-lady that helped him into the current state he’s in. 

Cara Glenn – a gentle woman in her late sixties who’s spent the last decade properly outfitting Jackson’s residents – becomes the subject of his focus for a spell. This master seamstress works in an “every-range,” as she’s been known to call it, implying that her craftsmanship spans the spectrum from everyday essentials to the occasional request for a finer piece of attire. Which it certainly does and then some. Joel’s vest being an example of the latter – along with a handful of other locals that were seeking something extra special this year, too. 

Ms. Glenn operates the small clothier shop that’s tucked between Main Street’s daycare and the ever-bustling community center. Under her direct employment, she has a half-dozen or so folks helping to maintain the small, albeit thriving, garment business. There are even a few of her workers – all of whom she considers extended family – with colorful backgrounds in fashion design, general retail and leather goods. A telltale spillover from their day to day lives and chosen careers prior to the end of the world. 

Beyond those select individuals in the know, the remaining staff are there because they _want_ to be; they’re eager apprentices with a keen interest in sewing, tannery or a broader approach to tailoring on a whole. _Cara’s Collections_ is, for all intents and purposes, a well-run, well-favored establishment – a staple of Jackson. 

The people love her. 

It’s also not a secret that the woman could justifiably retire and see her shoppe’s success through a secondary view. But being a seamstress has always been her passion – the woman’s “soul-fillers,” as it were. She adores teaming up one on one with customers and earning the privilege of friendships and camaraderie as a hearty result. Learning of their lives before, or their days since, should those coming to her be a bit younger in their years. She listens closely to their tragedies and their triumphs, all while providing a safe, quiet space to temporarily stow their weary, crestfallen bones. Bones for some that have never journeyed home by the loss of loved ones or the totality of self. 

It’s simple: The woman attentively cares for people — it’s her mission and her meaning. The driving force behind every precise stitch, every measured inch and the plethora of confident smiles she does her utmost to obtain. 

Joel wonders on Cara and the wholesome little world she’s curated; he grins at the notion of such an engagingly warm human in a world that does its best to snuff her kind out. 

He clears his throat. 

After the hearty repose, he steals a final glance in the bathroom mirror and clicks his tongue in consternation. Through the misshapen spots that litter the surface like lonesome planets suspended in a silver sky, Joel scopes the vastly different reflection and huffs quietly. Not content, not discontent either. 

Joel views his appearance as passable but regardless of whether or not that’s true, the man feels veritably ridiculous. For the most part, at least. With his hair swept back and well-kept, his beard trimmed but still full and wily enough to look like _his_ , he looks younger and older. Then there’s the clean pair of dark slacks – recently ironed and wrinkle-free (courtesy of Cara), just as his button-down dress shirt and shiny new vest are. 

This is a level of effort he’s not one to show but somewhere, somehow, he hopes it’ll be worth it. 

_’For her. Doin’ it for her.’_

He taps his leather belt and thinks of Ellie. He pauses to double check that the zipper is secure and thinks of Ellie again. The girl is a constant constellation, no matter the time of day, no matter the hour. She’s there, etched into the fibrous atoms of the boundless heart he keeps for her. 

Joel wonders if she realizes yet just how very _hers_ he’s become. Surely she must recognize how pitifully taken he is with her by now. But if by some chance she hasn’t, Ellie absolutely will after tonight. 

It’s time. 

“Now or never.” 

Now or never is not a conclusive sentiment and the man understands that; he merely wishes to put his best effort at the forefront and show up unafraid. Whatever happens beyond that is anyone’s gamble.

††††

“You still anglin’ to hurt that fool?”

Joel sips his brew, licks the froth from his mustache and levels a questioning look at his brother; his brow line furrows as he mulls over who it is Tommy seems to be talking about here. Himself or someone else...Joel can't keep track anymore. Grumbles at the thought of multi-faceted discord. 

“What’s that?” 

“Seth. I see ya burnin’ holes into that miserable bastard’s skull.” 

“Ahh. That one knows to keep clear.” 

The younger Miller laughs, “Don’t we all.” 

Joel lends the man a stern but mostly playful expression, “Apparently not.” 

Tommy chortles and takes a swift pull of his whiskey, nodding to his wife across the expansive dance floor of the church hall. He’s caught her eye and damn, that woman looks pretty tonight – Maria Miller always looks good though. For the occasion, she’s put her light hair into a messy bun with tiny strips of fraying tinsel weaving throughout. So, every time she moves, the glimmering strands float and sparkle, catching the ambiance of the surrounding space like a disco ball. 

It makes him laugh every time. 

But it’s more than that – it’s those eyes that are the songs of his siren time and time again: On this night they’re shining all stunningly bright and beautifully blue. Looking at Tommy as though it were the first, or perhaps last, they’ll see of one another. It breaks and makes him in tandem.

He sends her a knowing wink and grins at the easy air that’s lingering like a pleasant breeze within this place. It’s been a country mile since he’s seen his love happy like this and he suspects it’ll be a while more, once the town forums resume in a couple of weeks. 

Tommy leans into what might be, wondering not for the first time where he and his spouse will factor into the Mandate and what it could indicate for their future on the whole. 

It’s too heavy a topic for his current headspace; he doesn’t want to run a gambit on himself and risk souring the mood, so he chooses ignorance and returns his undivided to the older man standing beside him. 

“Hush it, Joel. Ya ain’t mad at me no more.” 

“Says who?” 

“Says me.” 

“That’s convincin’.” 

Once the lighthearted spar comes to its natural end, Joel drops his view and pats his vest in momentary introspection; he sneaks a keek through his peripheral to note the hour. The sizable wall clock is sitting securely above the festively-decorated entrance – it tells him it’s seven twenty-one. She’s running late. 

“Place looks nice, don’t it?” 

“Hmm?” 

Tommy chuffs and knocks an elbow into Joel’s forearm, “You’re distracted tonight. Waitin’ on someone?” 

Joel smirks and gestures with a pace far too quick to be anything other than a blatant lie, “Not really. Why?” 

“Well, ya look...like you’re lookin’ an’ you keep peepin’ the double doors. Speakin’ of, what’s with the extra fancy getup? Not really your usual.” 

Joel sighs and angles himself apart, setting his empty glass onto the bartop and tossing a two-finger salute to the attending at the opposite end. It’s Jenny on duty, or no, it’s Julie — he can never make a proper call as to who is who. The sisters are identical twins that, even in their middle age, frequently dress and style themselves similarly to one another. 

Twins have always amused the man, mainly because he habitually makes a fool out of himself in their presence. 

But it’s not a matter of great import. 

He just wants _his_ girl to arrive soon, a fresh pour in his tumbler and that baby brother of his to piss off. Joel isn’t keen on too many questions and though Tommy isn’t indicating or implicating himself in an uncouth kind of way, it’s grating nevertheless. 

Something about being a big brother with a needling younger sibling that gets the eyes rolling, regardless of their wizened age. 

“Oh, sure, ignore the question. That’ll make me go away faster.” 

“You want’a refill, Tom?” 

“Sure. Jameson.” 

Joel crinkles his nose as a flash of memory from days long, long past bubbles low in his gut. He can sense that whatever it is, or was, is of an unpleasant nature – a bad albeit familiar taste. Thankfully, his recollection remains blissfully incomplete; though he’s not actively trying to, Joel is unable to fully materialize the details of this fading event, only that there’s something _relating_ to it, something he’s forgotten and yet sketching echoes of it all the same. 

Perhaps oblivion was a purposeful tactic on his part, perhaps not. But Tommy’s drink of choice is enough to have Joel dodging an ambiguous demon — a wraith of this retention that he’s not entertained in many years. 

“What’ll it be, Joel?” 

“Brew for me, Jameson-adjacent for my brother. Please an’ thank ya...”

“Ha, Julie. And you got it.” The girl winks and sets to task, her hands working swift and sure as she fulfills the simple request. Not like she could conjure up much more than that, what with supplies limited to the various home brews of local citizens and an occasional state store score. 

“So. You gonna answer me or not?” 

Joel twists and openly scowls at his nosy brother but remains resolutely silent; his hands are clasping cheap alcohol, his lips wearing a thin, hard line but whatever speech he wasn’t on the verge of sharing is summarily lost. It falls to the wayside the moment he hears her. 

Above the din of the crowd, above the cheerful tunes of Dean Martin’s _”Let It Snow,”_ there pierce the high shrills of Beth Fleurs. Her hands are extending outwards, icy-white palms turning up in supplicating, feigned-surprise; she’s gesticulating to all of him with all of her and if it wasn’t obvious before (it was), it most assuredly is now. 

“Well, Joel Miller, don’t you look – dare I say it – dashing tonight!” 

“Here.” Joel pushes Tommy’s beverage into the man’s waiting grasp while expertly, or painfully, forcing a lackluster smirk. 

“Ms. Fleurs.”

“Beth! Just Beth, okay? I swear, one day you’ll call me by my first name and I’ll keel right over!” 

Joel nods but doesn’t acquiesce. He never does, never will. If only this woman was privy to the nature of his cringing plight. 

“Well, I’ll leave you two to it. Beth, ya did fine work decoratin’ this place. Lookin’ better than it has in years.”

The blond bounces with excitement and all but thrusts her ample chest outwards, “I appreciate you appreciating it! Thank you, Tommy. Say hi to Maria for me. I mean, I’ll track her down eventually but until then!”

“Surely will.” 

Tommy lines his sight with Joel’s, teasingly puckers his lips and makes his exit, leaving Beth and the older Miller to converse unimpededly. 

“So you uh, decorated the hall? That what he said?” 

“Mmhm, me and a few others. Some of the council members helped but it was mostly volunteers. Oh hey, I’m sorry your house didn’t win the festive contest on Wednesday — I was pulling for you, but don’t tell anyone that! I’ll get the boot off the panel if so. Maybe if you had that wreath I gave you hanging…” 

The girl nudges and winks at him, but it’s passive and he can sense the aggression that lies behind her empty joke. 

Subduing himself, Joel snorts and steals a hearty swig from his beer; if his mouth is full, he won’t be expected to say too much. Won’t unsuspectingly walk into a situation he’ll later regret. 

_’Ellie, girl, where the hell are ya…’_

“But hey, I voted for your place INstantly. The twinkling lights and flickering candles. Oh! And the gathered, handmade garland and softly decorated wreaths of silver and gold. It’s all so inviting and...romantic, if you don’t mind me saying…” 

At the egregious mention of romance on _this_ woman’s tongue, the whites of Joel’s hazels flash for the briefest moment; he inwardly groans and outwardly squeezes the pilsner glass a measure tighter than he should – too tight. He eases off, loosening the pressure for fear that he’ll shatter the object...although that would allow a speedy escape from such an irksome exchange. 

The man weighs his options. 

“Joel?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Are you alright?” 

“Oh, yeah. No sweat on that contest stuff. I reckoned Ellie an’ me wouldn’t take the prize. Speakin’ of, what’d the winner win? An’ who won?” 

Beth scrunches her nose and smirks but it’s the placating kind; it’s evident she’s not thrilled with Joel’s blasé demeanor in respect to a tradition she holds in such high regard. The woman counts these yearly events as a rites of passage for the collective health and wellness of Jackson and expects the same in return. 

She sidelines the fleeting annoyance, shuffles her feet and recenters. 

“Kitty and Kurt won! They were awarded a basket of baked goods from various vendors and donations alike, plus a case of the same ale you’re drinking now _and_ the selection of what movie we’ll be watching at the community center next week! Hopefully one of these days a title will entice you enough to join us…” 

Joel chuckles and leans against the rounded edge of the bar; tipping the cool brew to his mouth, he gulps with an audible swallow, then another, each one louder than the last and without an inkling of remorse. Or a hint of stopping any time soon. He’s pointedly ignoring the not so subtle breadcrumbs she’s thrown in his path. 

Fleurs gives patience a hearty headway before stepping closer to him – she won’t let this moment pass by without seizing it for all its worth. Occupying more personal space than she likely should, Beth tap-taps a lacquered nail to his half-empty glass and, “Pardon my forwardness, but I think...I’d really like having you join me there one evening. It’s cozy and comfortable. We could have a good time.” 

The man stops, wipes his mouth and pins his gaze to hers; there's a hopefulness in those cold eyes but with it lies an arbitrary, greedy kind of need. It freezes there, that manicured look, and surreptitiously unnerves Joel to his very core. He recognizes that unseemly glimmer, knows the hollow, selfish intent behind it’s veil; she wants him but not because she _wants_ him. It’s about ownership and checking boxes, nothing more, nothing less. 

And there’s a big, big box that needs to be checked looming above the town and all its occupants. 

Joel realizes he’s arrived at the point where the record needs to be set straight with this woman. Concise conviction, no mincing but no malice either. 

He finishes his ale, sends up a refill flare for Julie – or was it Jenny? – and then focuses on this awkward situation. Time to address her invitation for...more. 

“Ms. Fleurs, I appreciate the offer but I think it’d be best if we kept things right as they are. I’m glad to assist ya with the housework you asked’a me, surely that’s no trouble. But outside’a that, sorry to say I’m not interested.” 

Beth’s practiced smile falters, her lips trembling as she tries to maintain that polished, plastic exterior. It’s only a moment before it all but sloughs from her crestfallen features and her emotions partially reveal themselves. A rare sight. 

Rejected, dejected, declined. 

“Oh,” is all she can manage. 

A fresh pour arrives in what Joel can only describe as the most appropriate moment for it. For him, at least. 

“Here ya go, Joel, enjoy.” 

“Thanks…”

“...Julie.” 

“One day, I promise.”

“Mhm. Sure thing, big guy.”

He offers the bartender a warm grin – he appreciates the good-natured rapport he shares with a few folks like this. Still, it’s a fleeting exchange — he knows the woman at his rear is waiting and likely preparing an excuse to see herself free of this interaction. All normal. 

He shifts to find an empty space there, a vacancy where Beth once was: The woman is gone. Joel searches from left to right – shoring up that he’s not on the cusp of an attack or some other unfortunate happenstance – and eventually clocks her making a hasty exit towards the public lavatories. 

“Shit.”

“Well that looked like it went...not great.” 

Tommy.

“Astute, little brother.”

“She’s sweet. An’ she likes you.”

“Sweet like a damn toothache. An’ she likes the idea of me. Ain’t nothin’ there I’m interested in.”

Tommy bounces on a heel, digs a hand into his dress slacks — they’re dark brown and weathered looking but they’re new and nice on him. He bobs, “Ya know, you gotta get yourself someone one’a these days.”

“Mmph, is that so? Hitched up, too? Like you an’ Maria?”

“That’s right. Ya deserve it, you old asshole.”

Joel laughs at that, his belly contracting beneath his festive wear. His heart bounces a beat as well. The idea of marrying again…of doing it right this go around. 

_’Where in the hell ya at…’_

He sneaks another gander to the clock – seven forty-four now – and openly frowns. 

Tommy doesn’t say anything this time, just noisily slurps his whiskey and absorbs the subtle nuances of his brother’s anxiousness. 

_’You are definitely hidin’ somethin’ from me, big brother. Ain’t no two ways ‘bout it.’_

“Well, it will not be Ms. Fleurs, I can guarantee ya that.” 

Tommy snorts and grips Joel’s shoulder, “Much to her disappointment, no doubt.” 

“Hush it.”

“No.”

“You a pain in my damn ass, ya know th-”

The tail of Joel’s unspoken rhetoric drifts away, lost to the farthest seas where every abandoned, insignificant thought goes to spend its remaining days. Blissfully unaware of their existence, these echoes languish, forgotten by all in lieu of something far more brilliant. 

Ellie’s here. 

Alongside Dina and Jesse, the girl is walking into Jackson’s world of Christmas glitz and winter blitz, that beautiful face of hers beaming with mirth and lucid anticipation; she’s seeking someone in the crowd, her seasonal eyes searching innocuously for that one person. There’s a wavelength of warmth that’s emanating from her and even at this distance, Joel can sense it clear as the summer sunshine. 

Her person. His person. 

Still, past what he cannot see, there lies what he can: Joel’s all but doubling-over from the exclusivity of an inside-joke. Ellie’s wearing the Santa sweater she pilfered during their unintentional stay at the Baldwin Mansion...the night of their first kiss. Because of course she would. 

As he takes in more the girl, his jaw drops in disbelief and utter wonderment; she looks...sublime. Ellie’s ensemble shines merry and bright, imbuing the room with an energy equivalent to no other. It’s a divergence from her usual creature comforts and yet somehow, it’s distinctly _her_ , too. 

The sweater notwithstanding, her lower limbs are clad in a pair of shimmery-green leggings, or perhaps they’re stockings? He’s admittedly clueless on details like that. All he knows is that her pants are _on her_ , on her – suctioning themselves to that agile body inch by toned inch. 

Still, in spite of Joel knowing that fitted clothing is nothing novel to Ellie’s closet, these pants – or whatever they are – appear to have been painted onto her body one emerald droplet at a time.

It’s outlandish and sexy and loud. Just like her. 

Joel nearly hyperventilates at this presentation of Ellie; he desperately needs to evaluate his air intake and do so quickly, otherwise he risks exposing the profound effect this is having on him. He takes to distilling these stirrings with methodical inhalations between drafts of a now tasteless beer; Joel knows he’s drinking expeditiously but it’s all he can do to conceal their nameless truth and keep it from the entire town. To have it just for them. For now. 

The beer and the girl are weakening his resolve the longer this all carries on. He couldn’t blanket his ogling even if he wanted to, even if his life depended on it. Which it doesn’t, thankfully. But for her sake, he needs to settle and calm the fervor that’s yanking on his heartstrings. 

But with each step and every unintentional sway of her enticing hips – hips he’s left a few finger marks on recently – Joel’s submerging deeper and deeper beneath Ellie’s undertow; he’s dangerously close to drowning by just how incredible a sight this girl is. 

Eventually he manages a smile – a cheeks-cracking and teeth-showing kind of smile. A display of unapologetic happiness. 

But it proves to reveal too much. He immediately breaks his stare and peers around, looking elsewhere, looking anywhere but at her. The man chooses to focus on the twinkling loops of light that are twining around the Christmas tree; he blurs his vision and revels in the gradience of color that fills him in its wake. He looks to the rafters and soundlessly notes the swoops of garland and errant tree trimmings that run the entire length of this place. No detail, however minute, has gone overlooked. 

Distractions. 

Expectantly, all of these preventative measures prove to be of little use.

The man is trying to borrow time enough to muse and regain a fragment of control over his person; Joel surmises he may very well be a half-sheet to the wind already, if his disregard of every other town resident is any indication. And it certainly is. 

Still, this _is_ all shatteringly new – so unforeseen and wildly wanted that he’s not truly upset with himself, not really anyway. But Joel does want to keep her in good standing within the community – doesn’t want anyone to judge, accuse or blame either of them for what is secretly transpiring, but especially not her. Leaving her uncompromised in this fine place they’ve made home is as important as his feelings for her are. 

It’s that innate instinct to protect the girl, a learned behavior that will never see its exodus so long as he’s drawing air. Though, it is shifting now, changing to suit their situation and the rapidly altering circumstances of their daily norms. 

All of this pains the man, too. 

As he ceases this absent-minded, frivolous survey of the hall, he sees her again, sees her in _this_ way and feels the earth shake below his boots. Joel’s seismic plates are grinding harder than they ever have: He feels both whole and agonizingly torn asunder all the same. He wants her to _know_ , wants her to want him in all the same ways. 

_’Wanna have it all with ya, baby…’_

The man murmurs inaudibly as he fractures beneath the deluge of every hidden proclamation; the weight of all those desires he’s yet to vocalize are seemingly coming to a head here tonight. But there’s a darker sect to this as well – a flimsy partition that fights tooth and nail, working to push away every fear that lies in wait. Fears that try time immemorial to brand their influence upon him once and for all. 

Familiar doubts that whisper to his conclusive unworthiness. Whispers that speak in low, haunting tones to how undeserving he is of her – to how he is...much too old for her. Much too wrong, much too bad a man. 

One of those – the most burdensome of all the rest – is most persistent: How is he to share a lifetime with someone when he’s more than halfway through his own? 

A woeful plume of melancholy surfaces within, his chest tightening at the thought of such a monumental loss. But he’s willing to do that, if it means he can be with her. But is she? 

But _**no**_ , now is not the time and this is not the place. 

Joel shakes himself of these unwelcome ruiners that are laying waste to the euphoric fantasies of his heart. 

His tongue runs along his beer-slick lips as he considers the very real possibility that he might not survive this night. 

As every moment seems to pass in a tortuously leaden pace for his brother, Tommy watches in pensive silence. It’s…interesting. 

Initially, or prior to Joel’s odd, flushed behavior, Tommy _did_ attempt to redirect the attention of the man at his front. It proved to be useless though – a vain effort intent on prying the man from whatever stupor he’s clearly fallen into. But something hinted to the younger sibling – a delightful class of warning – to stow the teasing antics for a later date. 

Tommy doesn’t fully understand the gravity of what’s taking place here but what he does know is absolute: Joel never responds to anything in the manner with which he’s doing right now. 

He never has. Not once that he can recall. 

So Tommy options the road of curiosity instead; he tilts his glass to drink a hearty swig and shifts only-just to glimpse who it is that has Joel all but drooling. 

Tommy smiles. 

_’Fuckin’ knew it.’_

He needs to assuage this situation though. Something inside the man tells him that’s his play here. Irrespective of what he may or may not understand just yet. 

“Oh, hey. Look who finally made it.”

With that simple remark, Tommy expertly ushers his brother back into the present; the younger of the two gestures towards the girl and her friends but does his best to feign innocence – as if he’s been privy to nothing out of the ordinary. 

The other Miller emits a low rumble as he adjusts his stance and nods in a noncommittal fashion, “Uh yeah, just spotted her. An’ Dina an’ Jesse. Gonna go say hi.” 

“I’ll join ya.” 

Joel looks at Tommy and squints just enough to emphasize _something_ laden behind those hazels of his – something that is likely best left unsaid. After, he quickly presses onward. His girl is right up ahead, looking beautiful in her Christmas getup with cherry cheeks and wide, expectant eyes; he won’t be able to share or show his appreciation of her, not fully at least, so in that void he’ll aim to put himself nearer to her. Proximity is all they have tonight. 

Once through this insurmountable passage of time, the group finally finds themselves standing together amidst the vibrance of a bass-thumping, boot-pummeling dance floor. 

The five of them awkwardly bobble a beat while forming a loose half-circle and exchanging pleasantries and excitement alike. They’ve added to the pool of gleeful folk and for the briefest of moments, everything is right in the world. 

As the others begin to comment on the venue’s tasteful decor and each other’s variance of attire, Joel’s face breaks with a tentative side-smile. He’s calling upon everything inside of him to shroud the enormous well of want for her – to mask the ache of being unable to envelop and hold her in front of everyone with God as their witness. 

But he can’t do that, so, “Hi.” 

Ellie hears him, she really does, but the girl is too preoccupied by the dressed-up model that is Joel Miller. For the briefest of moments – and one he will never forget – she’s gone amusingly mute. During the scarcity of this quiet spell, her greens roam uninhibitedly from his polished boots to the sharp contrast of his swept-back hairstyle. And, of course, to all the delicious, delightful parts of him in between. She’s taking a complete inventory of just how fucking good he looks and doesn’t want to rush a single nanosecond of this.

After, Ellie sighs more than speaks as her lips part and, “Hhhey.” 

He huffs at that and takes a step closer, indifferent to the nearby folk that are almost assuredly paying attention now. Joel knows he should care – all the lists in his brain and the ad nauseum rhetoric that booms and bangs like a drum – but he just...can’t. Not when she’s within arm’s reach. Certainly not with her undressing him the way she is and looking the way she does. 

Right as he’s about to pull her to him, Dina thrusts a finger into Joel’s chest and situates herself part way between him and Ellie, “Is this a fresh piece? Has to be Cara’s handiwork, right? Damn, Joel, you went fahhncy, I see.”

The lines at the edges of Joel’s eyes meet as he nearly implodes from the balloon of tension Dina’s blown apart, “Mmhm, yup. Much like our English Santa, apparently.” 

Dina, Ellie and Joel laugh animatedly, much to the chagrin of their companions. 

“What’s this about an English Santa?” 

Dina turns and grips Jesse’s shoulder as she offers a mockingly-pitiful smirk, “You had to be there, my dude. Had to be there. Anyway, who’s thirsty?” 

Jesse and Tommy nod in unison as they score a path through the crowd with Dina in the lead. Joel and Ellie follow closely behind but have deliberately set themselves apart. 

Mostly on their own now, Joel puts his hand to the small of her back and presses, sensing her warmth through the fabric of that ostentatious sweater. After, he leans down and brushes his mouth to an ear, “Lookin’ so pretty, girl…” 

She sniffs, nibbles on the flesh of her lower lip until, “Ya know, I’m torn between ripping your clothes off, or gluing them onto you forever. What the actual fuck, Joel. You could have warned me you were planning on looking like a…looking like this…” 

The man chortles and steals a glance about the room, notes that no one is lending either of them any mind. “You’re one to talk. Moment I saw you up close, a filthy joke ‘bout wantin’ to eat candy canes came to me all’a sudden. I reckon I have you to thank for that, Red.” 

“Oh you have me, alright.” 

Joel’s chin pulls into the apex of his chest as he focuses all of him onto all of her. He thinks he heard her right. 

_’Right?’_

Tommy sneaks a peek behind and catches the heavy glares his brother and Ellie are giving one another; it’s comparable to nothing he’s glimpsed prior to this exact moment in time – not with Joel through all their years together – and likely apart – and certainly not from that girl by his side. 

He’s been gleaning _something_ the last week or so but this is obviously – and already – a whole other degree past his suspicions. 

Tommy grins as he turns around and continues towards Jenny – or Julie? – and leaves his brother and Ellie to their own private devices. 

He’s decided to keep an eye out on their behalf while doing his best to allow Joel this not so seemingly small fragment of happiness.

††††

“Ellie! I’m so glad to see you here! I figured you’d come but _whoa_ -” Liam halts and boisterously slaps a hand to his chest, “-you look...wow.”

The guy lists inwards with his arms widening, appearing as though he’s intent on hugging the girl, but stops short with a few inches of space to spare. Thankfully, Julie’s called Ellie’s order – a whiskey neat – and the auburn-haired girl promptly spins to retrieve it. She’s pointedly dodging the physical interactions of her friend – and Joel notices. Can’t decide if it makes him happy or makes him feel bad. They are friends, after all. 

“Oh, uh, hey Mr. Miller and...everybody. How’s it going?” 

Joel clicks his tongue and looks south at Ellie, who’s mostly been at his side the last few hours since her fashionably late arrival. She’s left a vacancy here and there to go dance with Dina, and even with Cat at one point, but other than that, they’re keeping close to one another’s orbit. A dance in their own rite. 

“Fine. You?” 

“Can’t complain. Christmas is next week and the Bison is fully stocked for the morning and dinner rush, so that makes my job easier. Which I appreciate.” 

Joel nods, Jesse does, too. “So what I’m hearing is, none of us need to fill our ratios this week, ehhh?” 

Liam curls his lip and shrugs his shoulders, “That’s not for me to say. Seth’s in charge of that.” 

“Reckon I ain’t deliverin’ my portions then.” 

Ellie elbows Joel’s flank lightly, tilting to look up and glimpse the humor behind those handsome hazels of his. 

“We’ll drop off our shares on Monday morning, like always.” 

It leaches every last ounce of Joel’s maturity but he’s able to halt his eyes from rolling in their semi-annoyed sockets. “Mhm, what Ellie said.” 

Just then Nat ‘King’ Cole’s _The Christmas Song_ begins to play and there’s a tonal shift amongst the patrons gathering in the hall. It permeates through the crowd like rolling thunder – a pull from the brilliance of a voice lost to time long, long ago. 

“Wanna dance?” Liam is holding his hand towards Ellie, his blue eyes hopeful and kind. But there’s that last conversation in the garage from a week ago and it’s suddenly skipping in the girl’s mind like a scratched vinyl. 

And Joel is right beside her. 

And no one knows. Well, no one but Dina, her and Joel, anyway. 

She wants his approval, even though she doesn’t _need_ it. No, not approval. Ellie wants to somehow convey with a strict conviction that if she does accept this offer, it means nothing. Less than nothing. 

“Go on. I’ll keep your drink safe.” It’s Joel. 

Ellie swallows and forces a grin as she inwardly curses the hot stinging sensation behind her eyes; he knows her so entirely well that it’s difficult to discern where she stops and he begins. Especially when it comes to moments like these – where they’re incapable of speaking their truths aloud but need to send a message crisp and clear. 

“Thanks. Don’t be drinking it. I’ll know.” 

“Sure you will.” 

As she accepts Liam’s hand and is willfully led into the bloated crowd, she turns to catch a wink from Joel as he summarily sips from her tumblr. She mouths a quiet, “Fuck you,” to which earns her a hearty howl noisy enough to here from her spot on the dance floor. 

She laughs as Liam places an arm around her waist and the other in her hand. 

The song is slow, melodic and beautiful and though Ellie wants to enjoy the smooth mood of it all, the girl knows she’s swaying with the wrong person. His arms are too thin, his body too...not Joel’s...and it’s becoming more and more apparent that she should have politely declined Liam’s request. Unfortunately for her, she ran out of time and thus, the decision was made on her behalf. Though, Ellie thinks it was done more for appearances than anything else. 

Joel didn’t take the choice away from her, he simply made it easier. That’s it. 

“You’re pretty close with that guy, yeah?” 

“Who? Oh, Joel? Yeah. Pretty close.” 

“Thought you two were on the outs for a while there. But things are better?” 

“We were. Lord knows I bitched enough – sorry, by the way. I mean, I didn’t really talk about it but whenever we were all drinking together, I couldn’t shut up about it, I guess. But yep, things are better. Much, actually.” 

Liam nods and then leans away, surprising the girl with a seamlessly executed twirl before bringing her back into his embrace. 

They smile. 

“That’s good. It’s shit when we’re at odds with our family members. So few of us have any real family these days.” 

“Family?” 

“Isn’t Joel like your...Dad or something?” 

Ellie juts backwards as her hand loosen its grasp with Brooks’, “Um, no. He’s not. At all.” 

“Oh. I thought...well, whoever he is to you, I’m glad things worked out.” 

“Thanks.” 

The atmosphere goes pallid and stiff between them, despite the natural warmth radiating off the other couples moving comfortably together. 

There’s a song change – another one of Cole’s playing – before, “Hey, I’m sorry about assuming. I have a bad habit of that sometimes. I didn’t mean to meddle or offend, honestly.”

She nods, lowers her chin and starts to ease out of his hold, “It’s okay. I’m gonna go now though.” 

“Wait, wait… I feel like I’ve made things super awkward between us since we last hung out. Ya know, at your place with too much booze and my stupid mouth getting me into trouble again. I...I keep, I don’t know, trying too hard? But over the last few days, s-since I was a drunken idiot, I mean, I haven’t seen you and it kinda sucks. Can we go back to being friends? I miss that, Ellie. For real.” 

The girl firms her hold, worries her upper lip and ruminates on this emotional diatribe of his. 

“Yeah, I’d like that. And I haven’t intentionally ignored you, for the record. I’ve been busy as hell with shift work, helping Joel with a few things and a million other to-do’s that have popped up. Along with all the damn hunting we’ve been doing for the Christmas rush at the Tipsy next week.” She smirks as she finishes that last, her eyes already warmer than they were a few words ago. 

“Hah, yep, everyone’s definitely complaining about that. But hey, if y’all want delicious food in abundance, or whatever passes for abundance anymore, hunting and killing has to happen.”

“I get it. I don’t like it, but I get it.” 

They finish the second dance in a far better manner than the first and though Liam is trying to keep her for a third – a home run, he calls it – she aptly, and politely, dismisses herself. 

“Stop by tomorrow for breakfast?” 

She hears his closing sentiments as she’s walking away and tosses her thumb into the air in affirmation, or confirmation — he’s not sure. 

Liam spins away, lighter on his feet and happier in his heart. 

For Ellie, it’s but a minute until she’s by the bartop again, standing at Joel’s side and playfully grumbling about her half-empty glass, “You better have gotten me a refill.” 

“Or what?” 

“Or I’m gonna eat all your peaches, old ma-“

The girl ceases that vein of thought and tenses up, reaching for his forearm and gripping tight to it. 

“Wait. What’s wrong?”

“Never mind the drink. Just come with me?” 

“Oh...okay. Where we goin’?” 

“Just hurry but don’t look suspicious.” 

“Uh…”

“Trust me.”

“I do, El.”

As Joel and Ellie exit the venue, Dina catches the urgency in her friend's gait and wonders if things have suddenly gone awry. She knows...everything now, or up to the current events at least, and wonders if it wasn’t difficult for Joel to see Ellie with Liam. As a direct lead from that, she hopes they’re not running off to argue or lose any of the ground they’ve been building the last two or so weeks. 

Such a short amount of time but Dina knows how important that man is to her friend, knows how unbelievably shattered she would be if things were to crack and crumble after two dances with a nice guy like Liam Brooks. 

“Who are you being nosy with, Dee?”

“Never you mind, Jesse Chang.” 

“Oh, full name. Am I in trouble?”

“You keep up that nosiness with me and you will be, mister.” 

“Fair enough.”

The couple return to their dance but Dina can’t stop thinking of her best friend. She will be patient though, wait on through and when the night is done — or the morning, depending on how this evening ends — she’ll knock on Ellie’s cheap door and get the unhindered story. Like always. 

For now, she’s content to dance with her guy and keep Christmas in her very Jewish heart.

††††

“Ellie, what are we doin’ back h-“

The girl’s lips crash against his, all messy and desperate and wanton; her actions are fervent and needy as she sucks and tastes the mix of bitter drinks on his tongue. It’s intoxicating. So much so that she’s unwilling to squander their time with explanations and reasons for this clamant hideaway. 

Instead, her mouth stays on his as she sinks beneath his top layer to palm the hard, corded muscle through his dress shirt. All that tensile power that’s been so close and so frustratingly off limits tonight; it’s maddening and after Liam’s comment and the jarring echo of that sentiment still lingering, she’s giving in to the cravings that plague her.

A balm to ease the hurricane in her heart. 

Still, she won’t touch his hair though, or rather she will try her best to steer clear of it, despite it being a favorite to grip and hold onto – a favorite of his, too. But if she musses it up, it’ll be a wink shy of sharing with everyone exactly what he’s been doing after disappearing for...however long this could end up taking. 

His grasp travels from her waistline to the soft waves of auburn that lay free and long atop her shoulders. Joel cradles her jawline before securing the base of her chin and moving her off of him for an infinitesimal spell. He’ll return all that he’s getting and more but first he needs to understand what’s brought this on.

“Mmph. What’s...are ya alright, girl?” The question comes barely above a whisper, more a series of low frequency mumbles as he tries to find his footing. He wasn’t expecting this after her dancing with that guy but it’s not unwelcome, not in the least. 

Ellie nods as best she can as her face sits within the cup of his palm; even this is turning her on – he likes directing and taking control of her faculties, almost as if he’s making her focus on exactly what he wants her to see and feel and nothing beyond that. It’s sexy and she aches for more of it. Right now, tonight, tomorrow, always. 

He nips at her after that, pulling her bottom lip between his teeth ever-so before turning her head away. Joel kiss-licks his way down her throat before, “You don’t seem alright, baby…” 

She’s trying, Ellie is truly lending it all she’s got, but she desperately needs more; running along the back of him, she rakes her nails across the prominent thew that lines his spine. She feels him growl against her skin, even shake a little, as his air blows hot and heady across her pale bones. He’s pulling the Claus sweater off the cliffside of her shoulder, stretching the aged wool and chancing its elasticity in ways he ought to know better by now. 

“I...am...n-now.” 

The girl’s words are breaking in that void between breaths, pupils wide and expanding more and more by the second. It’s not a byproduct of them being in the dimly-lit hallway next to the utility closet, no. It’s Joel. It’s all Joel. 

“Weren’t ya before?”

The last thing on Ellie’s mind is talking about Liam and his weird ‘father’ comments, or thinking of Joel as an old man. The first is all but laughable now, but that last churns like something dark and slithery in her gut. A forecast, a reminder – something frightful and permanent. Something that smells and drinks a lot like loss. 

“No. Yes. I dont-it’s. Unimp-portant…” 

Joel nods in acknowledgement as he continues to kiss his way south, licking those caramel stars as he voyages deeper into her dusty skies. Her flesh feels tight and warm beneath his teasing and he knows where this is going. Knows it’s only a matter of time before her physicality womans the helm and the rest is forgone until _after_. 

She’ll ask for more of him with her whines – plead for it with her shameless begging. He loves it when she begs. 

“You really wanna do this here, darlin’?” 

Ellie grins and seductively bites at herself while allowing her skull to fall against the drywall at her rear; she’s immersing herself into his oceans and all the others they’ve been sailing since that first night on his chair. Each one better than the last. 

It’s only hands and kissing and touching for the time being, and that’s all well and good. Because hands and kissing and touching with Joel is...climactic. Which is precisely what she’s aching for at present. It’s been since this morning and having to keep herself apart and dance with someone else has already become a burden too bothering to name. 

“I want you...to touch an-and please, just...kiss me? I need it, Joel. Hate hiding, hate pretending…” 

Joel rises but continues to press Ellie into the beige, aging wall with his bulk; he’s partially in the middle of her thighs but it’s enough for her to gyrate and grind against his hardened center. He suspires and that act alone is all that’s left available in this endless spar of either controlling himself or letting go completely. 

In that minuscule crevice between decision and action, he stares and assesses the state of her, gnawing on every word he so desperately wishes to speak aloud. 

“That all ya want?” 

Ellie peers high to find those colorful eyes of his gone mostly dark, “For now…”

“Alright, ‘cause these pants’a yours are drivin’ me wild, Red. I’m gonna have to do somethin’ ‘bout these later.” 

She giggles – Joel loves it when he gets her giggling – and grabs at the stiff lapel on his fresh new clothing. Ellie brings him into her orbit and they kiss each other slowly; now that they’ve had time to explore each other and reconnect after the charade and show they’ve been putting on, they’re free to just _be._

Eventually it happens: The girl’s touch sees itself braiding into his thick, long hair, tugging it this way and that; she drags her nails along his scalp with just the right pressure to elicit those thunderous tremors – tremors she will never cease chasing after. 

She’s making a mess of his style but neither possess the wherewithal to concern themselves with what anyone may or may not think. That time has come and gone. For right now, this is their safe harbor. Each other. 

As it’s always been. 

“That a promise or a threat, Mr. Miller?” 

He snorts, “Suppose ya need to wait an’ see, Ms. Williams.”

She smiles, a face-breaking-wide-apart type of smile, and Joel nearly collapses to the earth below her feet. This is too much and not enough at the same time. 

They kiss again, harder this time, and Joel pushes against her boiling center as they move in a frenzied cadence. It’s _almost_ sufficient for their needs at current, almost; he abruptly separates but only so he can direct a hand of hers onto his covered cock, “See what you’re doin’ to me? How much I want you all the goddamn time…”

“Fuck, Joel...take me home. Let’s go home…” 

He nods but doesn’t move, instead he starts kissing her again as she rubs him through his slacks. 

“Need’a calm down first. Ain’t gonna happen if we keep this up.” 

“I wanna keep it up though…” 

“Ellie.” 

“Joel.” 

The man grins, loops his arms around her waist and puts his lips back where they belong. 

They both know they won’t be going anywhere for a while yet.

††††

“Gonna run an’ get more towels for the bar, Em. Gimme a few.”

Tommy whistles to the tune of _Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree_ as he sets off towards the maintenance shed at the rear of the church hall. Julie – or Jenny? – has already shot through her supply and the countertops are a tacky mess of spilt beer and stray booze droplets. 

He doesn’t mind though – helping isn’t a chore so much as a privilege to him. And it makes his wife happy, so that’s a toofer he’ll never shy away from. 

Once in the hallway though, he hears the telltale sounds of a lewd act or something of an indecent nature taking place. At first he’s priming to round the corner and accost whomever it is that believes this particular area is the right locale for such a thing. 

But he doesn’t do that. Instead, Tommy Miller grinds to halt and listens. Their voices are familiar. _Very_ familiar. 

_”I want you...to touch an-and please, just...kiss me? I need it, Joel. Hate hiding, hate pretending…”_

Tommy’s jaw nearly dislocates from his face. He pauses, knowing he shouldn’t but will anyway. The man has to know. 

Peeking around the corner, he sees the response to that girl’s pleading in real time. The response to Ellie _pleading_ for Joel to kiss her. To touch her. 

And he is. His brother is kissing that girl. And more than that...he seems to be enjoying it, too. Giving of himself fully. 

Tommy doesn’t linger. Retracing his steps and trekking the identical pathway he took to get here, but pauses ahead of the curtains that work as a divider. An ineffective divider, apparently. 

The man sniffs, pinches the bridge of his nose as a knowing smile strikes across his features. One of the last times he overheard his brother with a woman – a woman with a similar tone at that – the outcome was decidedly different. In fact, now that he’s remembering, every time Tommy was an unfortunate bystander to Joel’s obscene affairs, not one woman ever received a shred of warmth from that man. Or even a kiss, far as he knows. 

It’s evident that what the younger Miller accidentally witnessed here is unlike anything from their days before. 

His brother is no longer a machine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always: THANK YOU! This is just wild. All of it endlessly, beautifully wild. I don't even know where to begin. It's not about the numbers, I assure you, but I do see them and I wish I could doll out 100k squeezes because wow. Just WOW. Also! There's a discord now (of which I'm still not entirely sure I should share the link right here for everyone just yet – I hate being weary but well, we know how bad it is out there for this ship! Give me time to properly weigh the options BUT if you're wanting in NOW, there are comments by a couple wonderful folks that have the links you need.) Treasure hunting is always fun! ;) 
> 
> But let's DO THIS!  
> • Amalie (nolastname, yet) – how do we feel about her? I personally love this new woman but oh boy, do I feel bad for her. What a time to meet and fall in love with Joel Miller. The heaviness of that poor girl's heart. Alas, this is officially the start of the flashbacks to Joel's years as a Survivor, a Hunter and then eventually, a Smuggler and so forth. It's super important to me to create a wealth of background information on him, so I really hope this little snippet was enjoyable. Enjoyable in the sense that we get a more realistic approach to how he used to be in comparison to how we find him 20/25 years into the apocalypse.  
> • Joel in that OUTFIT EXCUSE ME SIR WHO GAVE YOU THE RIGHT. Cara made our man look GOOD. I have a reference image I pulled from of some random hot older man but I'm clueless as to how I can share images here. I did however post it in the discord. So if you should find yourselves there, you'll see!  
> • Tommy and Joel – I do love these two sharing space and playful moments together. More of that – both old and new!  
> • Joel and Beth – well, he finally ripped that bandaid off, didn't he? And then she all but disappeared. Doesn't seem normal to me, but what do I know?  
> • Liam and Ellie – At least Liam isn't a piece of plastic shit like Beth is and him and Ellie made nice with one another. Still, and I was a little hesitant with adding this in, I needed to drop the "dad" bomb into the mix. It'll factor heavily into how the town views Joel and Ellie in the future, so the seeds had to be sown. And damn did they rattle our girl.  
> • Which lead to her all but climbing him in the hallway. C'mon, you knew I wasn't going to let this chapter come and go without a little sauce...  
> • ...to which Tommy saw! Oops. But he doesn't seem all that upset. Interesting. Very interesting. Thoughts on this? 
> 
> And that's Chapter 12: **Done!**
> 
> I once again am here at the end to thank you, profusely and loudly, for all the interest, the love and the stars you put in my skies. It moves my mountains, it calms my seas. Wishing all of you the very best of this new year and look out for Chapter 13...where we will see the end of the Hoedown and the stirrings of conflict that are brewing before Christmas. xx


	13. & Chasmic Resonance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new girl does her best to ingratiate (and enact) while Beth is busy licking her wounds. After, Joel and Ellie go home and they have quite the night. A little morning conversation with the Millers and then Ellie comes to a realization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, what can I say? This is the longest chapter yet and though I won't go into any significant details about it here, because y'all know I like saving that for the end, I do want to say that there's a _lot_ of spice in this one. It ran away from me but honestly, those two made it happen. Blame them. ;) 
> 
> More at the close. x

There’s a soft sound emanating from a stall by the rear of the washroom; a sorrowful, pitiful thing, a wisp of woe that’s betraying its owner. It comes as a low, bleating sort of noise, barely loud enough to rise above the din of holiday cheer and wholesome merriment. Everyone beyond this private space is to remain none the wiser. 

Everyone minus the girl who just slipped inside, of course; the girl that’s snaking her way into the porcelain palace like a slithery, venomous thing with purposeful intent. She will strike while the iron is hot using vulnerability as her key, her pass. An exposed vein she will ceremoniously bleed dry. 

The long con has already begun but all the other dreadful bits and pieces are starting to fall into place as well. One by one they drop – she doesn’t know _where_ these tumbling fragments of rage and revenge will end only that they _will_ end. A plinko board crafted and carved with the viscous blood of her father. 

The girl winces and directs her gaze to the dingy, cracking tile as she quietly collects herself. Now is partially the time but this is not the place. 

Too soon, much too soon. 

She centers her breathing, focusing on the pathetic echoes that drift out and into the empty area all around; it’s a sad state of affairs she’s pretending her way into but a necessity nonetheless. Only a few minutes ago, this practiced observer caught the melancholic woman stealing into her respite in a hasty show of subdued furor – it was obvious something wasn’t right. 

It’s even more obvious now that she’s inside this emotional casing that something is veritably awry – off its axis for one but curiously askew for this other. Something, or rather someone, is causing the disconsolation for at least one patron of this restroom. Or both, perhaps. Depends on who you ask first, she thinks. 

The moment she watched it all happen – the scene rolling like an embarrassing reel of slow-moving rejection – _this_ was to be her play. 

“Beth? Is that you?”

There’s a sharp sniff as a globule of runny fluid is suctioned in. Then a scratchy brush of tissue as it sands across dry, chafing skin. A hollow silence ensues and, “I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine.” 

“Abby, it’s-I just need a minute, okay?”

“I’ll wait here for two then.” 

From inside her private hideaway, Beth sighs and goes compliant; she stands, wipes her nose again and squares her shoulders. She’s preparing her exit. She sets her head high, just as it usually is, but there’s a crack in her foundation, a fissure that’s splintering deeper with each moment that passes. She knows it, much as she might try to deny such unsightly things. And she will try. 

_‘Doesn’t make any sense.’_

“Is it alright if I ask about what’s wrong? Why are you upset?” 

She knows what’s transpired already, why Beth is licking her wounds all on her own while simultaneously pretending them away to save face. Or reasoning with herself at the egregious, unreality of it all. Either or. 

Of course she knows _all_ of this – this woman’s angle and the man who plainly refused her. Abby has done little else tonight outside of trailing Joel and that skinny redhead he seems to keep regular company with.

“Oh, it’s nothing, really. I’m good. It’s just...allergies or something.” 

Abby spins her blues and treks to the row of well-maintained and properly managed sinks. There’s a few chips here and there, with a loose knob and a leaky faucet on one, but those will be fixed in short order. The mirrors lining the walls aren’t in the greatest shape but they’re intact and that’s more than most can say for themselves. Especially these days. 

Once there, she studies her reflection, picks a few phantom pieces of lint and rolls her shoulder; it’s been bothering her something fierce the past few days. She’s lifting more and more each day, driven by a need to outdo – to overpower – but her tendons are paying the price. She’ll ease off. There’s time yet. 

“Yeah, I mean, allergies in December and all.” 

There’s a creaky squeal from a battered and worn hinge and then her friend is there, looking every bit as disheveled as she sounds. 

“Listen, I appreciate what you’re trying to do but maybe just leave it alone? I’m really okay.” 

Abby tosses her hands into the space between her and Beth while readjusting her stance – she’s adopting a more submissive pose than anything overtly offensive or suggestive. She doesn’t want to torch this bridge, not when it could lead right to where she’s heading. 

“Fair enough. I just hope you know that I’m, I don’t know, here for you. I know we haven’t known each other all that long but, if you need to talk, you can talk to me.” 

Beth washes her hands, splashes cool water onto her fevering cheeks and stinging eyes in an effort to wash away the humiliation as best she can. After, she proceeds to turn to the girl at her flank and assess for a beat. 

“Maybe...we can just get out of here and grab a drink? Would rather not talk about...anything, for a while.” 

Abby smiles at the not-so-novel concept but nods in kind; stepping aside, she gives leeway for Beth to shake her hands dry and fuss with her hair – she knows this is the woman’s way.

Beth frowns as she calculates the sum total of her appearance: her ample waves of blond are a bit flatter than they were an hour or so back, but it’ll need to make do. After, she pinches her cheeks, checks her earrings needlessly and puckers her lips. She paints a smile across her glossy features – donning the dollish grin that has done its share in keeping her in the favor of men and women more powerful than her. After all these years, it’s never failed her. 

She turns to exit. 

Maybe Seth will be of a mind to shine a little affection her way tonight. Not ideal, not really ideal whatsoever, but as a willing substitute, it just might work. 

“Ready?” 

“After you.” 

Abby trails behind but not too closely. This woman is her admittance to Jackson and an opening to the direct line that will guide her in this volatile game of vengeance. But Beth is...a hard pill to swallow. She doesn’t want to side with that bastard who rejected the woman but understands clearly why he made the decision he did. 

“Abby?” 

“Hmm? Sorry, lost in thought.” 

“Found you! Now come on, we need Mariah Carey and whiskey.” 

“Roger that.” 

Once Beth pushes through the heavy door and rejoins the mass of gleeful faces and dancing bodies, she brightens her porcelain grin, waves at Kitty and Kurt and cuts a trail towards the bar. To her second choice pack mule. Hell, Seth might be her fifth choice. Maybe. Either way, he’s usually willing to wile away the hours under the assumption that she actually...likes the man. The falsities of her days and the shallow depths of her empty heart knows no boundaries. She imbibes, absorbs, takes. 

“Heya pretty lady, whiskey?” 

_’Good.’_

Seth’s on duty now. He’s tending alongside one of those weird twins that thinks it’s charming to share her identity with her sister. 

Beth inwardly redirects; now isn’t the time for such meaningless judgements. 

Outwardly she does as well. The woman bats her lashes, crosses both arms and leans her chest onto the bartop – she’s making her intentions crystal clear. Beth doesn’t care who might see, never does. Only thinks of her world and the betterment she’s able to afford herself from one moment to the next. What can she get when she needs it and who can she entice to be the one to give it to her. Whatever _it_ may be at any particular moment in time. 

A taker. A consumer. 

Beyond that, there is still the girl to consider, “Oh, Abby! Two fingers, yeah?” 

Abby huffs but muzzles her annoyance as she scrapes a nail to her browline, “Uh, sure.” 

“Coming right up. You two having a good time?” 

Beth feigns her way through an answer before hesitantly stepping aside, allowing Abby to temporarily fill the vacancy. She knows the younger girl wants to acquaint herself with as many townsfolk as she can, being rather new and all. 

Besides, she’s clocked Seth’s look and knows there’s nothing to worry about there. 

As Abby and the barman chat, Beth twists and anxiously seeks the subject of her recent ire. She doesn’t want to see him, doesn’t _not_ want to see him either. It’s a rare serving of self-torment that fills the emptiness from his rejection of her. An interim, albeit morose, journey through the halls of a psyche she’s long since abandoned. 

Her icy eyes roam, leaping from one colorfully animated person to the next as she searches; there’s an abundance of heartwarming mirth and bountiful smiles – some warm, some suggestive, some drunk, some nonplussed. Those are of little import though so she continues on, mentally erasing their presence; they’re pulsating inconveniences to her now, gyrating strangers that are nothing if not in the way. 

There’s refractions, mirror reflections and shimmering dots of light that bounce from baubles and waves of sequin alike; it’s a mirage of jovial celebration and there’s a small sect that wishes she could be _of_ this wonderment versus a bystander merely adjacent to it. She’s fully aware that the balm she coats atop all those hidden charges at the core of herself is wearing dangerously thin. There’s the risk of a catastrophe, she knows, a great and gruesome event that will surely expose her for who she truly is. Who she’s been all along. 

She locates Tommy and Maria at the heart of the crowd and stares as the couple sway in sync, so closely together that their bodies and foreheads appear supernaturally seamless. Beth grimaces. Not from the overtly romantic sight of it all but from the woeful lack of her participation, despite her willingness. 

Pushing on, the scavenging hunt resumes, only this time with a tinge of sadness – a vein of despair that taints the maw of her concealed beast with shades of pale blue and soulless grays. She gnaws her plump lip and shifts her gaze to purposefully ignore it, trampling the woe in favor of this illogical desire to _see_ the man, to see if he’s out of sorts for what he’s done. She hopes he is, suspects he won’t be. Thinks she knows enough to know enough. 

Her blue bleeds outwards, extending itself to the pleated maroon curtain that separates the gathering space from the utility hallways. The woman has entered that area plenty, even as late as last week during the preparations for this evening’s Ho Ho Hoedown. But something is drawing her view there _now_ ; the lines of weighty wavy fabric are shifting, moving as though someone on the opposite side were trying to find its seam. 

She watches, keeping her position fixed but remaining as nonchalant as she can manage; she holds there for a minute, then another. Beth’s of a mind to turn away when two bodies emerge from the crimson folds. 

The man pierces through first, setting the broad expanse of his back to the dilating crowd – the collective townsfolk are blissfully heedless to their presence all the while. Beth stares on mutely as the curious scene continues to unfold; she knows it’s Joel, but the question as to why he would be there of all places strikes at her fiercely. She won’t look away now. 

After his advent, another trails in his wake – it’s that younger redhead, that short teenager that he’s always going on about. The girl is slightly off center from his front but it lends Beth a clear line of sight to the remarkable expressions laden on her face. There’s an electric smile radiating and the girl’s puckish features are visibly flush; there’s a distinct rumpling of the sweater she’s wearing as well.

 _’Curious.’_

The woman peels her purview away and returns her vision onto _him_. He appears a measure more disheveled than he usually does, tonight notwithstanding of course. Tonight he was pressed and clean and almost...manicured. A sight unto itself. But that was earlier. Now there’s an unkempt mess of gray and black hair – the swept-back style he arrived with seemingly gone – and his shirt is laying partially loose off of a hip. Only partially though. And only on that one side. 

The man’s palms are flat to his thighs as he unhurriedly pedals in reverse, as though he has not a single concern in the whole world. It’s the best case scenario for Joel but the worst for Beth. Yet, that’s _not_ quite the dire, revealing nature of it all. Not that girl’s smile or his messy hair. Not their less than perfect attire or suspicious arrival from an out of bounds section of the structure, no. 

What’s really setting Beth’s teeth to grind are the duo of pale fingers hooking into the man’s belt, gripping him just enough to suggest that there’s _more_ going on there. She pulls him and juts her chin out, smiling wide and pure.

But the girl doesn’t keep her grasp to him for any significant length of time; soon as they’re a few paces beyond the separating line of heavy linen, their breach sees them breaking apart. Her hands drop to her person as he fusses with the uneven dress shirt and then his hair. The girl is laughing at him – no, not at, but _with_ him rather; it all comes as a visage of greens, reds and something that shines and feels a lot like...intimacy. 

“Here you go. Hey...Beth?” 

Beth twists at the sound of Abby’s voice, nearly bumping into a tumbler of amber liquid that’s hovering in her immediate vicinity. The woman swallows the secret she thinks she’s unsuspectingly privy to and, “Oh! Thanks. Perfect timing!” 

Abby studies the woman with silent scrutiny, exploring the subtle shift and adjustments to her tone, marking the unease and discontent as she distractedly imbibes. It’s not an abrupt redirect from the bathroom but much more noticeable than prior to them sidling up to the counter for twin drinks. 

“Oh yeah?” 

Beth sips her alcoholic beverage and nods, “Yep. Couldn’t be better. So what’d I miss?”

††††

“I think...I have had enough of this town for one night, cheerful tidings have reached their limit. I think it’d be swell if we went home.” Ellie licks her lips and sniffs deeply, looking high to the man leaning by her right, “Ready to trudge through the snow and ruin our well-won buzz?”

Joel tilts his pilsner glass and finishes the last of his mostly warm beer, “More than. Let’s get.” 

Ellie’s face is still tingling from where his beard had pressed into it an hour or so back. The prickly after-sensation is starting to fade and all she can think to do – and wants to do – is return him to her in that way, tenfold. 

She wants much, much more. 

More than they’ve been doing all damn week, and if she has her way about things maybe this time she’ll get and give her due. 

“Gonna get ya coat.” He offers the girl a side smile, places his glass on the shiny wood surface and tips a finger to Jenny – or Julie – and walks towards the front of the building. 

“Ya gonna be joinin’ us for dinner tomorrow night? On _time_ , that is?” 

Ellie laugh-sighs and twirls on her cherry Martens; Tommy is there, all toothy and smug with his elbows relaxing part way onto the bartop. 

“Ha ha. Some of us like to nap, I’ll have you know.” Ellie goes nearer to the man and bumps a sole into the thick heel of his cowboy boot. 

“Oh, surely. Think you’ll bag plenty’a sleep tonight?” 

Ellie tilts at that, and he can almost detect the shadow of curiosity as it forms in the darker pools of her glassy eyes, “After dancing and drinking one too fucking many…whatevers…you’ll be lucky I don’t wake you and Maria up after the restful night I’m intent on having.” 

Tommy chuffs but doesn’t peer over at her, just sticks to his hunch as he sips quietly on his own libation. 

“What?” 

“Huh?”

“You’re being...something, Tommy Miller. Are you drunk?” 

The younger Miller lightheartedly snorts, “Girl, I’ve enjoyed ‘bout three full drinks tonight. Ain’t no heavyweight but not a featherweight either. It’s been a nice time is all. You’d agree?”

Ellie stretches and meanders a spell as she ponders his easy question; she knows the answer of course, but giving it away too soon would be...giving it away too soon. Instead, she smiles at Julie while expertly avoiding Seth’s beady little bigot face. 

At the opposite end of the bar there’s Beth and the younger blond beside her – those two are regularly together as of late. She doesn’t like either of them but it’s the new girl that’s teasing the boundaries of what she knows and what she senses. The one Ellie can’t place but recognizes just the same.

As she’s about to revert her attention once more to Tommy and his merry attitude, her gaze meets with the stony, hard eyes of one, Beth Fleurs. Ellie’s neck juts to the rear just enough to showcase dismay, but she shores herself and paints her pale facade with a deeply set frown – and never breaks contact. 

The woman appears...accusatory. It’s as if she’s casting judgements and damning Ellie with every fiber of her polished physique – but in regards to what is anyone’s guess. 

Well, no. 

Ellie stifles a grin as a wayward seedling sprouts in the maze of her whiskey mind; certainly Beth doesn’t know about the changes between her and Joel, and yet what other reason than jealousy would there be for this woman to display such obvious disdain and abhorrence? 

Ellie grins anyway. No more stifling, no more pretending away the distaste that they clearly harbor towards one another. No more of it. 

After Beth’s frozen lip line cracks just enough for Ellie to know she has her right where she wants her – for reasons not entirely known to her at current – she squints and turns back to Tommy. 

“What’d you ask again?”

He hoists off the shiny lacquer tabletop and turns his front fully towards the girl, “Asked if it’s been a nice time for ya.”

Just then Joel appears between the pair and offers up her winter wear, “Cold outside. Better bundle.” 

“Thanks, Joel. And yes, it’s been a pretty awesome night. See you tomorrow at dinner. _On_ time.” 

Tommy laughs as he brings a palm to his chest, “Touché, girl. Goodnight you two.”

It’s the second time his brother is partnering with a woman tonight – two different women at that – but what Tommy now knows goes beyond the jests and jabs he was originally planning to take. 

He won’t say anything, not yet and from a realistic standpoint it’ll likely be a while, but that won’t put a stopper on his having a bit of fun in the process. 

Joel deserves this, whatever _this_ is, and Tommy will keep it close to him, protecting the man’s interests as things, hopefully, progress. 

After Joel and Ellie make a unified exodus, Tommy muses on a biblical passage he’s not heard nor thought of in far too long a time; it’s an expression that reveals the depths of the well while concealing its secrets all the same. Only he will adopt it in the way the Almighty intended.

The younger sibling smiles. 

He’s grateful to be his brother’s keeper.

††††

“Too cold. This is too fucking cold, Joel.”

The man loops a limb around her shivering shoulders and brings Ellie into his chest, closer than what others may view as a familiar embrace; he does this in spite of the weather and despite the slowly dispersing crowd – his girl is chilled, he will warm her. The end. 

“But other than that, how’d ya rate tonight's shindig compared to years’ past?” 

Ellie vines herself around the man, her upper half at least, and considers his question in much the same way she had done with Tommy’s. These two, honestly. 

“Well, those Hoedowns pale in comparison, to be frank. I mean, I didn’t have my tongue down your throat or your dick practically in my hand while at those, so…” 

Joel laughs but looks around to see if anyone’s near enough to hear. They’re not. He finds he doesn’t care either way. 

“True but none’a that would’a mostly worked back then anyway.” 

The girl nods but remains pensively silent. It’s unclear as to whether he’s hinting towards their time apart, the ‘estranged years,’ as she inwardly terms them, _or_ is referencing the irrefutable fact that as of a year and a half ago, she was not of age. Either way, she concedes that he’s correct in that regard. Both, actually. 

“Fair. Did you even go to last year’s?” 

He bobs a bit and then angles down to steal a peek at her, “Sure did. Had a couple then left shortly thereafter. Nothin’ for me there.” 

Ellie lends a disappointing scowl but he’s not cognizant of it or its source; it’s not disappointment in the sense that she regrets the actions or the decision to separate them from their everyday, but rather it’s the wasted time. So much time was burned away and for what? In her heart she always knew they would return to one another in some amalgamation of what once was, but to realize that she could have willingly run the clock to zero dark thirty and never made peace with Joel? That would have eviscerated her. If he died and things were left as they were, she would have dug out the plot directly beside him.

Total annihilation of all that is and all she could ever hope to be beyond such a loss. 

The resonance of a guttural bellow rips through the flimsy barrier of this risen place, collapsing it into the nightmarish underworld she’s been privy to time and time again. She shivers; it’s been getting better, yes, but reminders such as these serve one purpose and one only: It’s a vacuum into that steely, decomposing grasp – a gravitational pull into a singularity that hums to the tune of her worst fears. 

“Hey, ya alright?” 

The girl frowns and squeezes him tighter; she has an arm to his taut waist and is clinging so fervently that he can feel the tremors as they roll throughout her. As distinct as though there weren’t multiple layers between them at present. 

A nod again before, “Mmhm, sorry. Was just thinking.” 

“‘Bout?” 

“How much I want you to warm me up as soon as we get into the house.” 

Joel huffs, “Don’t seem like that’s what was on your mind, Red, but if it’s on there now, happy to oblige.” 

She chuckles and presses a kiss to his beard.  
He grips onto her tighter. 

Home is by the bend in the road just up ahead.

††††

As she treks beyond the dividing line and delves into the chasmic heart of this house, there’s an indefinable stillness that is equal parts deafening and noiseless. Yet for all the quiet, for all its nooks, alcoves and tiny crevices, there lies the whispering secrets of lives long gone...and those yet to be. Ellie’s incapable of discerning these ghosts at present but their weight and the hushed vibrations of every expectant soul seem to permeate through her.

She feels so shatteringly alive – full of sound and color and light. 

It’s wildly overwhelming. 

The girl inhales, warms cool lips with a slide of her tongue and stows the ethereal disquiet within. Instead, she focuses on the minutia and the immediacy surrounding her. Everything is right _here_ , in its cavernous and mountainous glory, in its wholeness and broken history – if only she speaks the words and lays it bare. 

_’But is he...ready? Will it be too much? Am I too much for you, Joel? Am I not enough?’_

Ellie stems those bemusing, useless thoughts as she rattles tiny flecks of snow and frost from the outermost layer of her coat. She brushes it carefully onto the hardwood flooring near her boots and watches the soft show that follows her rustling act. The flakes glitter as they descend, catching the moonlight from the open door as Joel walks in behind her; these sparkles of crystalline prisms grant one final deliverance of beauty before they succumb to a silent demise. 

“Can’t wait for Spring.” 

“Yeah? Sick’a snow?” 

“Nah. It’s pretty. I mean, yeah, maybe. I go back and forth.” 

A snort, “Well alright then.” 

Ellie shrugs as she steps from her boots and watches Joel from the edge of her vision; he secures the door, shirks his jacket, gloves and footwear and proceeds to wipe a hand through his semi-damp pile of tousled hair. He jabs his fingers into it and paws at the mess, humming quietly to himself. 

“Have I mentioned how much I lo-like your hair? How long it is, I mean.” 

Joel starts at that and looks down to see a pair of greens glimmering in the low light of the passage they’re standing in, “That so?” 

“Mmhm, looks really, really good on you.” 

He moves into her immediate space and tilts her chin upwards, observes the girl closely for a moment. Joel watches as her eyes fall shut at this, the barest of his touches. 

His mouth nearly to hers, he whispers, “More for ya to pull on, it seems.” 

An abundance of warmth drifts low on his person as the girl exhales and nods in soundless automation; every syllable flees into the safety of silence as the rest of her submits to the cadence of this languid melody. He can sense that she’s craving more tonight, more togetherness – more of him. He prays to be given more of her, too, despite the reckless fear he harbors in admitting such tantalizing musings. Musings that continually taste forbidden, despite the pleasures they’ve been enjoying the past week or so. 

Still, Joel inwardly reiterates that there is only this moment and the euphoric dreams that may be made possible because of it. All else beyond this point remains uncertain; if their knowable past is to lend any indication to the future, Joel is helpless to combat the worry that gathers in his belly like a heavy, cumbersome sludge. 

Yet, for all the promises that were once so resolutely unshakable, there lie an equal number that have seen their fair share of damage. 

Thus he will walk the line as far as she tows it and no farther; if he must remand himself to the realm of intentional mindlessness and forgo his burgeoning desires, he will do that. For her. If he must imprison the rapture of his heart and keep steadfast to the pain that will imbue all that he is, all that he’s become in her wake, he will do that. _For her._

“Speaking of…” 

He hears her, but the sentence dissipates, carried on the wind that sails from his lungs in a hurried burst of lustful energy; her hands are in his black and gray, pulling and nailing against the soft skin of his scalp. Shivers run laps through him, his eyes seal and his lips crash into hers. 

Joel walks them towards the console table that’s barely wide enough to display his carvings – but it’ll offer the right amount of space for what he wants. He kisses her, hard and feverish, his hands on her ribs, traversing lower and lower with each beat of his heart. Right before her rear collides with the aged wood, Joel grips her bottom tightly, lifts her a foot and sets her down part way onto its edge. 

There’s an inaudible moan and its transience severs their kiss but they don’t detach – they breathe and lick teasingly at one another for a spell, pretending to collect the pieces of their straying inhibitions. Joel knows it to be futile: There’s an inferno spreading throughout him, set aflame by the embers of a sensual exhalation...of _her_ sensual exhalation. 

His cock is so hard already that it’s aching again – it’s the second time tonight they’re vining themselves into this sort of trestle; what’s transpiring between them is intense and salaciously immense...and he’s all the worse for the wear because of it. Happily so. He’ll strain and twitch and throb so long as he can be with her. 

Ellie leans back a measure and trails her fingers from the base of his neck down his spine, absently counting the divots of his beautiful bones as she goes. She’s stealing herself, calling on the phantoms of this place and the secrets in her heart for courage and confidence. 

She’s suck-kissing his neck – beneath his beard in the shadowy v of his throat – as her hands roam to the front of the man in this tactile search for the rare, fine dressings that adorn him. The girl smiles as she draws forth an image of Joel from tonight, the evocation all vivid and crystal in this portrait within her mind – as though he isn’t as close to her person as they can reasonably manage at present. 

Keeping her mouth to his flesh, Ellie teases and nips him, hisses at her own actions and, “Have I told you how fucking wow you look tonight?” 

The girl pops one of the buttons on his hunter-shaded vest and then another, her agile fingers working it open slowly; she feels the rise and descension of his chest as he suspires shallowly and without measure. 

“You really like it?” 

She wraps a leg to one of his while simultaneously widening the gap between her thighs; he’s been occupying the center of her this entire time, but the need to feel _more_ of him is consuming the last fragments of her patience. If she could teleport them up the creaky stairs and into the endless embrace of his bed, she would. This isn’t enough, not nearly. 

“I do, but I wanna get to what’s underneath it way more.” 

At her reply, Joel grunts something she’s unable to decipher but it’s no matter, his hands are on either side of her jaw now, directing her heady sage to meet its match, “Let’s get upstairs, yeah?” 

Ellie delights at the notion of this man being able to read her thoughts somehow, the idea of this is coming in and out of focus – but rationally she knows he isn’t paging through her thought-treasures, no. He is, however, noting the not-so-subtle movements of her hips as they roll against his hard cock, the saliva-slick lips she’s pressing to his neck or all the taunting pinches of her teeth as they bait his arousal. 

“Please.” 

He purchases a single step to his rear but pulls the girl along with him, “After you.” 

“You just like staring at my ass, don’t you...” 

He notes the vacillation of confidence to her voice, a blink-and-you-miss it hesitance in regards to something she obviously wants him to affirm. Funny thing though, she’s not wrong. 

“Guilty.” 

“Knew it.” 

He laughs. 

The journey from the entrance to the master bedroom is done before there’s even an option to process the sights along its wooden path. None of that matters; there’s only the charge in the air and the creaky protestations that reveal their direction. 

They climb and climb and climb, one board at a time; there’s this low frequency singing in the breadth between – it’s nervousness and anticipation, a vibration of emotion at full mast. An ineffable energy that beckons upon the expanding universe in the hopes it may achieve its full potential. 

And then they’re there.

Once inside the heart of the chamber, Joel switches on the electric heaters and closes the bathroom and closet doors. With less space to warm, it shouldn’t be all that long until it’s cozy enough for the night. And for whatever else. 

Beyond that, the light remains off. 

Joel goes to the pretty girl standing on her own by the stern of his mattress, watching him, waiting on his return. She’s fixing her stance but she’s neither rigid nor tense. Just anticipatory. 

With a lop-sided smirk and the barest hint of something else there, Joel reaches south and tugs on the base of Ellie’s Santa sweater, “Seein’ ya in this again was a treat, girl.” 

She angles her neck and tries to take in all of his features, despite the woeful lack of luminance in this place. The moon is mostly no help either, as its pale offering is gratingly inadequate; its light is barely bright enough to allow even the occasional glimmer from his eyes or the sheen on his full lips. She longs to see. 

Ellie puts a pace between them as she slips from his embrace and rounds the corner. 

“Where’re ya-” 

Joel’s question languishes as he glimpses her bend and ignite one of the oil lamps on the side table. The ensuing glow is warm, its amber and orange hue just dim enough to keep things moody but radiant where it needs to be. 

“Ah.” 

Returning from whence she came, the girl’s fingers finish the last of his vest; she slips it down and off of his arms, folding the thing and taking care not to discard it as though it’s something less grand than it actually is. 

“You better wear this again.” 

“You tell me when an’ it’ll be on me.” 

She quietly chortles and places the custom wear on the opposite edge of the hope chest that’s set beside her calf, “Tomorrow?” 

It’s his turn to stifle a laugh, “Whatev’r ya want.” 

“Nah, you looked good tonight but you’re sexiest in your lumberjack look.” 

Ellie winks at that last and hooks to the remaining slack of his leather belt, encircling and suggestively sliding along its length; she suspends there a moment, looks up at him and grins. After, the girl dances her tips towards the center of him where she tugs on the worn thing and loosens it. 

He doesn’t stop her. 

Joel watches as she performs with an impish sort of silence, but her petite hands are unsteady as she unfastens and eases the buckle free from the loops of his semi-formal dress pants. His hands go to her, grounding the girl by her elbows; still, there’s an undeniable strength that’s coursing the further she’s willing to take them – to take him. He can sense as much and though Joel doesn’t want to cease any part of this, there’s a distinct _knowing_ that this should only go as far he allows it. For now. 

It feels too early. 

This week has seen him educated with information aplenty about his girl, but nearly all of it suggests that her body – regardless of what those lips may beg or plead for – is not quite ready. Soon, but not there yet. 

This will be an exertion of control he must bring as close to his person as he wants her – he won’t hurt the girl, nor risk the regret she could very well experience if they push beyond the point of no return. There’s much to consider. She’s not like anyone else. Suspects – or hopes – that he is much the same to her. This isn’t a tryst, isn’t a fling or a one-off. 

“What I want...is more of you tonight, Joel.” 

...But if she continues to say things like that, all bets may be summarily called off. 

Ellie throws the belt onto the hardwood behind him, tossing it at a far enough distance that it ends up hitting the baseboard. She’s driven, he’ll give her that. Hell, he’ll give her everything. 

“An’ I want more’a you.” 

At that last, Joel lifts the lower half of her festive top and pokes his chin forward, “An’ I’m tired of this ol’ bastard winkin’ at me.” 

Ellie giggles and bobs her head, “He’s got a look about him, doesn’t he? Dirty man.” 

Joel snorts, “More than one’a those in here is one too many, I reckon.” 

The girl playfully shoves him as she reverses a step, then another...it’s as far as she can go. The sleighing curve of his footboard is pressing against the malleable muscle of her thighs; it’s round and inflexible but Ellie revels in its foundation as she prepares for what’s to come next. For what she’s intent on doing. 

Joel studies her, leaning his weight onto his left heel as each of these moments feel impossibly longer than the one proceeding it. 

The girl takes a beat, exhales and levels her gaze with his. They’ve seen a lot of one another this week, _touched_ a lot of one another but this feels novel – more intimate somehow. 

Without pausing to stifle a fresh bout of useless nerves – _’am I pretty enough, are my tits big enough, will he want me will he want me will he wan-’_ – Ellie grabs the hem of her sweater, raising it high and off of her. Following his vest and belt, she tosses the thing in the same general vicinity and tentatively returns her focus onto him. 

_’So long, Santa.’_

Two eyes bearing the heat of the summer sea are _on_ her, traversing from her navel to Ellie’s full, bare breasts. Hazel bleeds into caramel as he glimpses the constellation of cinnamon stars – the scattering he discovered their first morning together. The mythos born unto her that he’s been wanting to kiss and mindfully chart new territory into. 

He pretends nothing away, hiding none of his appreciation from her as his vision consumes and memorizes in tandem.

He sucks and releases his bottom lip, “Been like this all night, Red?”

“Mmhm. What would I need a bra for? Had that goofy fuck hiding me all night.”

Ellie gestures to the discarded garment but says no more about it. Santa’s been laid to rest. For the evening at least. 

“I…wanna feel you, Joel. _Please._ ”

_’Fuck. That whinin’ is trouble.’_

She slides a foot forward and he’s there instantaneously; he grabs her midsection and pulls Ellie close but not into him, not all the way – he wants to keep looking at her. 

Joel wets his lips and reaches for the rear of her neck, anchoring them together while fighting to steady the melee of this moment. After such an impossible feat, he molds a hand to the soft concave that separates her hip and ribs – but pauses, again, to leverage his authority for all its worth. 

It’s a baseless tactic and he knows it. 

In the midst of this silent veneration, he sketches imperfect shapes with his thumb, sensing the simmering fire of her flesh and the wanton ache that bleeds from her bones. Feathering his touch higher, the tip of that same digit ghosts along the silky underside of her before it cycles up and summits her stone-hard peak. Joel repeats this a few times before pinching her nipple lightly, causing all the sinew at the base of her skull to stiffen. 

Her breath hitches as a tremor ravages the girl’s frame from tip to toe. 

The man smiles as he watches this scene unfold, feeling all that she’s revealing tenfold, “Feels good, don’t it, darlin?’” 

She answers without an utterance, her mouth splitting and greens closing as he holds and handles her; she’s rigid and her body is intoxicated by his minuscule tactility, lost to the wayfaring drifts of these roiling tides. 

There’s the slip of a faint noise, finally, and it’s an eager sound of yearning and desperate resignation. 

On the heels of this thrumming expulsion, Ellie palms Joel through his slacks and squeezes to emphasize the severity of her necessity. It’s just as she did earlier in that sacredly salacious hallway, but she’s rougher this time, needier and far more fervent. 

She grits her teeth and strokes him as best she’s able, “Mhm. But I wanna feel good with all of _you_.” 

The man growls as his waist pokes forward and with it, he banishes the last vestiges of hollow space that linger between them. Their mouths collide in a shattering of urgency and desire wholly unhinged; lips, teeth, tongue – air, fire, water. 

They’re beginning to drown, beginning to ignite. 

They go on like this, accelerating faster than the speed of light but slower than time itself. They’ve been ejected from this house, this state, this world and thrust into an endless ocean beneath a blanket of blue, black and shimmering white. It’s the start of their paracosm – the very dream that holds all those potential ends that Joel fears the most – it’s the death to a sordid history that damned them to silence and tainted their vast well with crimson and saline. 

But that is no more. They’re burning it to the ground, reveling in the ashen embers that dance at their soles, trying to catch, trying to hang on. 

The past won’t – it cannot. 

Joel breaks and Ellie’s kissed-lips relocate to his forehead; he’s looking south, watching this girl squeeze and pull on him, trying to obtain more – hesitant to take it. He knows he’ll be the one to lead, suspects that’s what she wants, what she craves even. She may admit it, she may not, but there’s a submissiveness to this girl that would render a lesser man boneless by her tremulous pining.

Not that he’s complimenting himself, no. It’s more that he loves her enough to do The Right Thing. 

He doesn’t ask with this next bit, doesn’t think she would want him to; Joel takes a knee before her, curls his fingers into the elastic waistband of her candy cane leggings – and thin panties – and eases them down her limbs. He removes the shiny pants one leg at a time, kissing her here and there as he muttedly undresses Ellie. 

She loves this side of him – controlling, leading, guiding, but raw and vulnerable all the same. But Ellie can’t muse on their fluid dynamics just yet, it’s far too distracting. Besides, she’d rather it play out in real time. 

Her fingers disappear into the dark mass atop his head as hers tilts on its axis; she finds him down there and grins – as he’s kneeling, Joel is offering and taking just the same. Taking what she’s willfully giving. Enthusiastically at that. 

For she’s...blissfully naked. Laid bare and revealed to him for the very first time and he seemingly cannot satiate his thirst for her. 

Joel remains on his knee. 

“Jesus, Ellie…” His praise languishes as quickly as it came, forgone to the dizzying heights of the precipice he’s teetering on. 

The roof of his head reaches to the space just north of her navel and as he absorbs the image of her, he leans in and kisses her belly. His hands and arms vine to her as he runs them the length of her lower half – gripping, releasing, sliding – just feeling as much of her as he can. 

_“Joel…”_ Whimpering. Always whimpering. She’s reading this man as well as he has come to know her. And unafraid to play her cards. 

The dominance of Joel Miller rings loud and true at this, which is a familiar and comforting trait, and yet here he is, calling for permission – begging for admission. 

She pushes her flat tummy against his lips while unknowingly widening her stance. Instinct. 

Looking low between her thighs, there’s a line of slick dribbling from her leaking center. Using a knuckle, he cuts the trail of liquid in half and brings it to his lips, licking while simultaneously teasing himself with the taste of her. 

_’Fuck.’_

Ellie inhales but pointedly doesn’t release her air. Rather, she imprisons the sharp intake to the cavernous hollows of her lungs and waits. And waits. 

“Get on the bed, girl.” 

It’s a demand not a request – one she obliges, because of course she would. 

Ellie vents the trapped oxygen and rounds the corner of the footboard. Once at her destination, she stands by his turned down side of the bed and flicks her eyes from him to the sheets and back again.

“How...how do you want me?” 

He’s in front of her already, having risen and followed in the wake of her silent acquiescing. 

Joel clicks his tongue at her blatant show of nervousness; he knows how she wants him, knows this is all realer than reality – they _are_ here, sharing this time and space. And yet, she’s clearly anxious. All natural of course, but it’s a vulnerable reveal – the kind he will delicately handle. He brings his palms to her cheeks, cups her gently and kisses in much the same fashion. Delicately, gently. 

“First, I–I want all’a you. An’ we’ll get to that eventually, if that’s what ya want. For right now, just lie down, ok?” 

She exhales – _relief_ – takes a seat and pauses a beat; eventually she slides just far enough into the mattress that her legs are unable to bend over its ledge. “Like this?” 

“Scoot on back’a little more.” 

The girl does as instructed. 

“Good girl.” 

He looks at her body and steals himself this moment, wholly awash in the wondrously-witchy magic that’s been cast over him; the man’s thankful she had a mind to stoke the life of that forgotten oil lamp. It illuminates her pronounced angles, her soft curves and all the hidden troves he longs to delve into. Soon. Maybe. 

Joel watches on as the flickers of flame prance and paint her skin in a palette of yellow-golds and sunset-oranges. Ellie is a chiaroscuro vision coming to life, suspending above the deep shadows of a linen plain. 

Joel wants to dive skull-first into her thunderous currents, wants her to have his breath, his love, his life. 

_’One thing atta time.’_

He notes then that her knees are pinning together – a visible display of inexperience and anxiety – as Joel draws out the minutes while purposely keeping her in the dark. Though he needs to strike a manageable balance in this regard; anticipation can help or hinder and he doesn’t want fear to seep into that beautiful mind of hers in the interim. 

As he watches, Joel takes to his dress shirt, popping the buttons one by one before it’s undone and as useless as their other attire. He rolls it off his shoulders, pulls at its cuffs but what happens beyond that or where it ends up is anyone’s guess. Inconsequential details. 

Next is the white undershirt. Reaching an arm high and behind, he grabs a fistful of fabric and pulls the cotton tee up and over his head in a fluid, swift motion. 

Ellie’s legs part a measure at this – her lips, too. It doesn’t go unnoticed. 

“Mmph, damn Joel…” She palms one of her tits and mumbles, teasing herself absentmindedly as she absorbs the sight of him. He doesn’t miss a single minute of it nor does he neglect to add it to memory for safe-keeping. Ellie clearly favors what it is she’s seeing. 

He offers an acknowledging smirk and redirects to the beltless band of his trousers. He unhooks a stud and mindfully unzips the line of metal teeth, expanding the v as wide as it will go. He purposefully does not remove his pants, instead leaves them as they are and aligns his cock into a more comfortable position. 

After, he crawls beside her and props himself on his side, making sure not to block what little light they have. 

She shifts so they’re laying front to front, drapes a limb atop his thigh and uses it to bring him nearer to her person. The girl curls into his chest and sifts a hand into what she’s taken to connecting with most; he loves it, loves how this closeness calls on all facets and all needs, including those that extend beyond just the sexual. 

Their lips meet and the osculation is slow and revelatory again; they move their bodies together as they carelessly burn time, believing it to be a guaranteed abundance. 

Eventually he posies the girl onto her spine and watches as Ellie’s chest rises, falls – lungs filling, emptying. 

“Don’t gotta be nervous, El.”

“I’m not. I just...I want _you._.”

Joel nods and lowers his gaze onto the beautifully enticing parts of her – which is _all_ of her. He wants to explore prior to giving his girl a piece of what she wants – a part of him, yes, but _which_ is something he’s woefully indecisive about. He has time. 

“Tell me what you want’a me...” 

At that last, Joel trails a finger across the ruby-red of her naked lips but immediately stalls when she sucks it into her mouth. The girl swirls her tongue around the digit unhurriedly, applying just enough suction to clue him in; he knows _exactly_ which part of him she intends to have. The rest of his hand forms to her pale cheeks and a portion of her neck as she does this.

It feels so good, even this, and his cock twitches against her in response. The heart beneath his breastbone booms, thundering haphazardly like the stampeding footfall of wild elk. 

_’Too soon. Not too fuckin’ soon. Too fuckin’ soon.’_

He eases his index from her skillful lips and uses it to track a line of sheen from Ellie’s jawline down, down, down. He passes the hammering pulse in her throat and the vivid flush of her exposed chest. Joel teases the dusty-rose of her pink peaks as he passes, circling and kneading her tits as he casually roams. Then it’s her starry skies, that taut tummy and the small patch of deep auburn curls at the crest of her sex. 

“God, I’ve never—I don’t...you’re driving me batshit, Joel.”

He presses his mouth to hers at that but only for the briefest of moments, “Good. Close your eyes. Remember...I jus’ want ya to feel me..” 

The firelit edges of her greens vanish as she follows this latest ask – the second time tonight, she muses. Maybe third? Doesn’t matter. 

Those are nuances she can analyze another day. When she’s no longer nude and feeling this man’s touch all across her body as it nears her achingly empty hole. 

“So damn sexy, girl, ya know that?” 

His tone is low and straining but as serious as she’s ever heard it; its intensity might very well frighten her if she didn’t love it...and him...as much as she does. Ellie quickly decides that she wants to hear more of him like this. 

The girl doesn’t reply, instead kissing his collarbone and nodding with quiet gratitude. 

“I’ll repeat it all the damn time if need be.” As he emphasizes, a pair of Joel’s fingers push through her wiry auburn to reach the sleek hood below. He tap-taps her there and nearly bites himself bloody as he feebly tries to stave the resulting shock. It’s shooting straight to his throbbing cock and he almost groans and thrusts into her side. 

She’s so alluringly wet that her slick is coating all areas of her. 

Never. He’s never experienced this level of excitation with anyone he’s ever been with. No woman has ever been so receptive and inviting to the point that they were dripping after a few light touches and kissing. 

Joel’s chest inflates as he labors to settle his inner rhetoric and continue onward; it’s a balancing act of wanting, needing and desiring while trying _not_ to recall all those meaningless things that have gone lost to the dredge of time. 

He’s reseating into the present but finds himself at odds all of a sudden; his gaze is torn between the girl’s face and her pussy as he touches her – he needs to see every reaction but also wants to watch himself working on her, too. It’s too tempting of a sight to miss. All of it. 

Joel finds he’s yearning for an endless night, to prolong and extend and drag this out as long as he can. That wouldn’t be fair to her though. 

Joel goes farther. 

He brushes her clit and baits it with the tip of his digit; looping rings, he surrounds the needful thing at first, feathering an aimless pattern that adds to her mounting tension as he circles it. Ellie squirms and raises her hips – it’s a dire cry for more. He’ll give her more. 

The man kisses her quickly as he pads the swollen nub she’s plainly pleading for him to play with. Joel presses down onto it, smearing her arousal in a series of tempering spins. He pushes harder and lighter as he rubs, eliciting contrastive physical reactions as he uses varying pressures; he loves learning her, loves taking the time and stretching it out. 

It’s not about the end of this session but the getting-to; a stark dissimilarity to memories past that he doesn’t always recollect and if he did, wouldn’t call upon them now anyway. 

He smiles briefly and shifts to get a better view of her.

Squeezing her bud, he pulls gently and rolls it a spell. After, he slides a finger directly into the folds of her slit and back up again, he repeats this once, thrice and the girl shivers at that, her flesh donning tiny bumps as she instinctively reacts to his treatment of her. 

“Oh fuck…” It’s a sinful prayer on her tongue, an invocation for more of the same and for what’s to be beyond that. 

He does it again, all of it, again and again but he wants to take her farther tonight, wants to start the process of _starting._ He’s already brought her to an orgasm a few times this week but this, _this_ feels different. Far more intimate than the chair and the hasty moments they’ve spent on the couch. His thumbs have felt plenty of her, now he wants her to feel plenty of him. Or, more, at the very least. 

He abruptly stops and rests his hand onto her trembling belly. 

Brushing his lips to an ear, “Wanna open ya, baby. Put your leg on me, spread yourself.” At that, she lifts her limb and bends it atop his clothed thigh; he runs his calloused skin along the length of it – up and down – before journeying back to her core. 

They’re widening the space, widening the arrow between her legs – and he’s inviting himself to its point unimpededly. She’s allowing him. 

Ellie’s eyes shine black in the atmospheric glow that fills the emptiness between them, though there’s not much of that left by now. Still, Joel is devouring her patience but torching the final tethers of her anxiety. It’s maddening and reassuring at the same. 

A palm goes to his chest with an intent to ground herself and settle the urgency that’s gathering low in her belly. She drags and rakes her nails through his hair as she battlegrounds her ardent breathing, “Gonna stretch me, Joel?” 

“Mhm. If ya want me the way you’re talkin’a wantin’ me, we gotta get things goin’.” 

Turning away from the vivid ardor of her heavy sage, he thieves a gander south just as his entire hand cups her sex and massages it. Using her whole structure as an anchor, he pulls Ellie upwards slightly and pushes her down again, rubbing and pressing as he does this.

A growlish-sound rumbles in the cavernous depths of his torso as he studies the way she and this entire scene looks right now. The light of the lamp is carving shadows across the definition of his forearm and the taut muscles of her bare abdomen – the contours are dancing along with their bodies, shifting and moving like a sentient liquid. It’s evocative in ways he won’t ever be able to properly articulate. 

He watches on...Joel likes watching. 

“You want this, too, right?” 

Joel snaps his hazels to her and blows some of the sultry fog from his brain. With a whirlwind of weeks they’ve been sharing, and especially this last...not to mention the stolen moment in the town hall a few hours ago...that question halts him in his stead. 

But he’s fast to remind himself of how new she is to this, to _all_ of this – and how very _not_ new he is. 

Taking his hand away from her, he brings it to the girl’s chin and holds her gaze, “You have no idea how much I...want you.” 

_’Jus’ fuckin’ say it.’_

Ellie curls her lip into her mouth and nods in a reverential quiet – she believes him. Suspects she will always believe him from now on. 

At that last she seals her greens and curses the fevering sting that pools behind her eyes. It’s been a long journey for her and Joel, such an arduous adventure and yet here they are. In a wildly new world of their own, building the bedrock from all those shattering pieces that were left by their feet. 

Despite how right and real and whole she’s feeling, her own lie does not get the pass in this. But now’s not the time, now is _especially_ not the time. 

She kisses and cradles half his face, breathing sharply as she goes; Ellie tastes him, licks and sucks and teases, plummeting into the torture of wanting everything while accepting the tempo he’s set. During this, she grabs his wrist and moves it from her chest, leading it low to her dribbly opening. She holds it there and shamelessly grinds against it for a few moments before, “Open me, Joel.” 

The man swallows but makes to obey her lead, “Anythin’ hurts, ya tell me, ok?” 

Ellie nips an ear as an agreement to his terms but doesn’t release her grasp on him. She whines her waist against him while feeling the tease of a finger between her folds; he’s handling that enormous bundle of nerves in a way that exposes his healthy history. At least the surface area of that history. 

Joel stares at the maneuvers of his girl’s beautiful body – at how naturally reactive she is, what with the rolling of those agile hips and the obvious inclinations for more. It’s a sight he will likely never get used to seeing but one he hopes to earn time immemorial. 

After a few minutes of this, Joel senses the wet spot on his boxers pressing to the flank of her thigh. He presses harder. Right now he wants it to be for her but his cock is stiff and needful and he will allow himself the minimal contact. 

Ellie feels him, along with the tensity and the desire that’s leaking out of Joel – both literally and not. She can’t get a grip on him in this position so in place of that unfulfillment, she pushes against him as best she can. 

He grunts. 

“I love how fucking hard you are for me. Want you inside...” 

Knowing he has to have those hazy eyes and that sinful mouth on him as he does what he’s about to do, Joel smacks her opening teasingly and, “Look’a me, Red.” 

She does. 

Using his index and ring fingers, he separates her seam and pushes his middle digit into the unyielding, tight chasm of her. Slowly, so slowly he goes – but not so slow as to avoid giving her the effect she’s in desperate search of. As he enters, he feels the flexibility of that pliable ring and the fluttery contractions of her walls as he delves deeper. First joint, then the second, until his knuckle meets the slick outer skin all around it; he stills himself, “Good?” 

She nods, “Mhm...good..” 

She’s impossibly tight and just as he’s considered every time since earlier in the week, he knows it’ll be a feat to fit _himself_ within her when that day, or night, is to come. 

_’We’re gonna need’a spend a lotta time on ya, girl.’_  
He’s all the happier for it. 

Spinning his digit clockwise and counter, Joel fills her and groans at the way her body is trying to suction him into that hole deeper. The man can only imagine what that experience will...hopefully...feel like when it’s his dick and not just a finger. Still, he brushes beyond that – he tries to keep his mind from wandering into that direction for too long; the thought of it all is a tantalizing risk he won’t entertain fully, at least not while he’s literally within her at present. He can only endure so much at one time. 

Inwardly he refocuses as he hooks forward inside of her and pulls a measure. the girl gasps, “Oh godyes...d-do that again?” 

They’re still looking at one another, though Ellie’s leaden pools of jade are shutting, opening, shutting, opening, operating of their own volition. Joel wants to kiss and touch all of her but for now, there’s only this: Working her, spreading her – stretching her dense, luscious abyss in such a painstakingly slow manner. 

He does it again. Turns, spins, twists, hooks. Again and again until he feels her start to lend a little leeway. “Relaxin’ more an’ more on me, El.”

Unable to withstand not doing _something_ to him a second longer, she bites his lip but it’s barely more than a nibble. She’s on the verge of a stunningly physical breakdown, her words papery-thin and imploring, “More...please more…” As she begs, his finger is slipping free of her and back in, enacting all of those other movements she favors during and in between each penetration. 

“Mhm.” 

On the next rotation, he eases from her completely – much to Ellie’s mewling protestations – and coats his ring finger with a fine layer of slick. He’s priming to re-enter her, this time as a pair and not just a single. 

Mirroring their first go around, he pushes in with a sedative pace – all joints until he hits the limit, and then it’s flesh on flesh. 

Her body arches at this, lungs inflating and spine bowing as she takes him inside; she hisses at the pulsating hum that stings with a dull ache – her pussy is so new to this, so new to this substantial man. Ellie’s muscles tense as she fumbles with how to relax around his thick fingers, but she won’t give in that quickly. She wants this, loves it even. It’s just unfamiliar. 

“So f-full, Joel…” 

He doesn't move for a beat, just buries his fingers and gently kneads the swell of her shiny nub. He knows it’ll help and she will, too. Eventually. 

“Try to relax. Greens on me, pretty.” 

She does, all mouth part way open and pupils blown wider than he’s ever seen. He needs to distract her from the mental aspect of this introductory physical experience; after the time they’ve been spending together the last few days, Joel’s almost certain what it is she might enjoy. 

His lips go to hers but he doesn’t kiss her, instead he teases and bobbles there a moment and, “Mm...pussy is tight, girl. Ya like this? Feelin’ full?” 

She suspires a shaky chestful of air and nods her head with great emphasis, “F-fuck...yes…” After, she steals low to take in the image of it: His sizable arm is partially bent, his fingers disappearing inside of her as his thumb oscillates against her clit. 

“Pull out so I can watch you slide them back in. Please, Joel…” 

He’ll do as he’s told but first he needs to spend a measure more time in there before he begins to really use her wanton hole. 

“Soon. Let’s stretch ya a bit, yeah?”

Without waiting for a reply, he mimics the simplistic motions he exerted earlier, when it was just the single digit. Turning, twisting, hooking – only this time he has more available to him and so he works with what he has. 

He parts his fingers, pushing against her wetted walls that are fighting to suck _and_ expel him in tandem. Her chest rises at that and he wants so badly to put his mouth on her – on all parts of her. But there’s a way to do this and it needs to be exactly what it is: A process. A series of steps to ensure that all of her firsts are the best he can offer. She deserves it and so much more. 

_’More’n you with ya hands on her, that’s for fuckin’ certain.’_

They go on like this for a little while, until he can sense her starting to relax. Irrespective of her obvious desire that’s now at a fever pitch. His own, too. 

“Jo _el_...” His name is a shiver on her tongue, a quake of her world that extends to his, rattling his bones and stealing his collective reserve. She’s begging now. 

“Alright, Red,” he murmurs, watching as she lifts her upper half off the semi-sweaty sheet to rest on her elbows. She wants to see, wants to glimpse as it happens, wants to remember. 

He loves how curious she is, how insurmountably turned on as well. 

Joel rises as much as he’s able, and places his lips to her neck, “Wanna feel ya come around my fingers…” 

She sniffs and leans her head towards his, “Mmm...I’m...fuck just fuck ‘em into me an–”

He cuts her off by sliding out and thrusting in – his actions are calculating and yes, slow, but he’s giving her what she wants and Ellie’s accepting it with eager enthusiasm. Joel suspects that their sex – whenever that may come – might very well send him to an early grave. He would gladly sign on the dotted line right now if presented with the option. 

They go at it like this for a spell, fingers within, fingers without; sometimes he’ll slip them free and let the drops drip onto her swollen folds, smearing the excess and teasing her in tandem. Ellie bucks at that every time, her thighs widening each time. 

She _really_ likes that. 

“Look how wet ya are. Christ, Ellie…” 

“It’s you, Joel, it’s you…” Her head languishes and hangs bonelessly between her shoulders as his fingers fuck her harder and faster the longer time burns on. He watches her grind against his pumping hand and knows she’s approaching her climax; he pulls out, lets her slick dribble onto her waiting hole and chances a playful smack against her sex. It’s a soaking-pop of a sound and forceful enough that she starts and peers down again, “Fuck. Oh, fuck… Joel, I wanna come, make me come? Please, please, I’m so close and-and… _fuck_.” 

It’s a pleading like no other he’s heard from her prior to this very moment. 

Readjusting his position, he settles part way above her but lowers his head, his intentions unclear to her for the moment. But it’s only for a moment. 

He hovers there spell as he aligns his mouth with her nipple but looks up at her as his hand continues to drive her twitching core to the edge of its limits. “Love how good you’re takin’ it, how you’re stretchin’ for me an’ drippin’ all over the damn place. So good, so damn good, Ellie.” 

She shivers at that, a tremor rocketing through from the very fibrous center of her person. It feels as though she were being torn in half and made whole for the very first time. Nothing has ever been so clear or so cloudy at once. 

“Mmm...I want your cock, Joel...fuck me? Want you to fuck me so much...” 

Her voice is low, too low; he doesn’t require any convincing in this regard – he knows these pleas are not empty, that these halfway begs of hers are true, but she’s on the cusp of an orgasm and her thoughts are miry, consumed by the filthy, lascivious nature of their act. 

“I will, babydoll. An’ you’re gonna fuck me. Fuck me good an’ right with this sweet hole’a yours.” 

“Oh… _god.._ ” 

His mouth covers the violent-pink at the peak of her tit, his tongue lapping and teeth teasing as he finally has her in this way. It’s the first time he’s doing this, the first time he’s put his lips to her. He sucks and wets her, his saliva warm but set ablaze by the passion-rich temperature of her flushing skin. 

Joel uses his teeth to pinch and tug on her nipple just long enough that the bite of pain meeting pleasure floods her synapses. She moans at that, a deep, trembling sort of noise. 

Her pussy twitches as he overloads her sensory system – she jerks her hips and rolls harder on him, despite the pace and rhythmic cadence he’s trying to maintain. It’s the way of it and how he knows he’s doing right by her, by how _she_ likes it. 

All leading to that cataclysmic conclusion where she will shatter and take while giving so very much of herself in the process. 

Incapable of supporting herself a second beyond the last, Ellie falls supine onto the mattress. Joel relinquishes with her but doesn’t stop. She’s almost there. 

She vines her hands into hair and arches, gasping and sucking for all the air she can’t seem to keep within her person – all the air of which seems to have dissipated in the last few minutes alone. Her body starts to shudder, her fingers and toes curling as the thigh that hangs over Joel’s suddenly goes stiff. 

Joel feels it, feels as her climax tears through and renders her rigid and veritably adrift; Ellie comes on his fingers with a series of hip-snaps and inaudible exhalations of delicious fulfillment. Her walls squeeze and contract around him as he moves slowly still, drawing as much from her as he can reasonably manage. 

He rides these tides with her, listening, watching, speaking in low rumbly tones all the while. He’s already added this entire night to the safe confines of his memory but this moment will be one he’ll _use_ in the future. 

Raising up from her chest, he travels his way north; from her bust to her throat, from her jaw to her lips, he kisses, licks and sucks. She’s coming down already and though he is remiss to cease, he starts to slow his already slow movements on her. He knows she’ll be sensitive and doesn’t want to overstimulate the girl, not with this experience.

He watches her fingertips dance atop her flat belly, glimpses that pretty patch of wet red above his hand. Watches her breath come back into her body and the fire in her features burn brighter than it ever has. 

Joel feels his cock throbbing, the silky skin of him stretched so far that it’s damn near starting to pain the man. He needs to come now, too. 

Pulling from her, the urgency of his own desire is searing through the final barriers of his unerring control, made more intense after what he’s just born witness to. Joel grunts and rises onto his bent legs, moving to get off the bed and shirk his dress slacks – but Ellie is there far faster than him. 

She hooks her hands into his pants and pulls on them, tugging the thick fabric down to his knees and no farther, his weight digging half-spheres into the semi-plush of the bed. He watches her, right hand still dripping with her orgasm, while the other is slipping into the mess of her auburn hair. Of course Joel wants the girl to suck him off but he suspects she’s not ready for that yet – won’t pressure her and certainly doesn’t expect it.

But _oh,_ that mouth. 

After his trousers are down, she lifts the elastic band of his boxers up and over his leaking head. Ellie finally saw _all_ of him a few days ago – balls, too – and that initial impression has yet to wear off. If ever. She knew he was big but seeing him bare, all unbelievably big and hard, made her quiver and doubt her capabilities at the same.

But she’s not doubtful now. She knows he won’t fuck her tonight, but after what he’s just done to and for her, Ellie wants to show him precisely how much she _does_ and _will_ fuck him. One of these days. Of how she’ll take him, all of every, every inch and every drop. 

At that last, she wets her lips, grabs him and strokes once, twice and then looks high to find him boring holes in her, “Come on me? Finish on my pussy, Joel...” 

The man huffs and tries to shake loose of the overwhelm, but the impact of her request leaves his soul damned to an eternity of resignation and lustful surrender. This woman has him in this lifetime and all the others that may exist beyond it. There is no him without her. Woven, stitched, permanent. 

Joel nods and licks the inside of his lip, “Lay back, baby.” Bringing his hand to his cock, he uses her fluids to slick himself from root to tip. He shivers at this and feels himself nearing that implosive edge already. It’s so quick with her, so improbable and fast that, much like their first time, he might be embarrassed if it were anyone else. But it’s not. Thankfully so. So he doesn’t lend that muse any more power than the excitement she’s eliciting from him. Unbridled, unchained, uncontrolled. 

“No, I wanna do it…” 

Another nod of surprise follows an audible swallow as she bends, lifts and spreads her legs. From this vantage point he can almost see inside of her and all he wants to do is taste, fill and fuck his girl silly. Give her one orgasm after the next, after the next...

 _’Drivin’ me wild. Fuckin’ me up. This is too much for one man.’_

Using one arm, Ellie anchors and angles herself into a mostly-seated position. The other grabs that slippery big hand of his, kisses it softly before moving it away from him. From there she squeezes and rubs his hardened, long length, using her own liquids and the errant beads of his precome as deliciously-slippy lubrication.

“Fuck, this is a big cock, Joel…” 

“Mm, you like it, darlin’?” 

“Fuck yes I like it. I _want_ it. I wanna fuck it and suck you off…” 

The whites of his eyes flash for a tick before his lids seal it all away; this room, the glowing colors cast by an insignificant lamp, that beautiful fire in her eyes and the devil on her tongue. It’s so much. Joel leans forward, going prone above her with his arms on either side of the girl's waist – it’s all he can do to keep himself from lowering and pushing himself inside of her. Of giving her, and him, what they both need. What she’s desirous for. 

“Mmph, grip’a little harder, baby.” 

She does. 

“Like that?” 

“Yup. Damn, that’s so good.”

“Wanna empty you…” 

He exhales and lists forward just-so, finding two extraordinarily amorous, stunningly green-gold eyes staring up at him, “I’m gonna come so fuckin’ hard for you. Look, look what you’re doin’.” 

Ellie puts her other hand to use, challenging the refined muscles of her core to keep to the position she aches to be in for his end. 

This gives her an extra hand, yes, but access to more of him, too. It’s not long until she cradles and rolls his balls, hearing him sigh above her as she does this. After, Ellie presses a fingertip to his taint and runs along the papery-thin, smooth flesh there. His hips jerk forward and pull to the rear at that – it’s his body’s instinctive inclination to thrust, to fuck. 

There’s an echo in his mind, the words amplifying and reverberating as they cycle round and round, forcing their truth upon him with each pass. He wants to have her, yes, but he wants to finish _inside_ of her rather than out. Wants to fill Ellie to the brim and fuck it back into her, should any of it trickle from her. 

_’Ain’t what she asked for...fuck.’_

Once she’s done with his sack, the girl returns to his dangerous cock and falls into a hypnotic rhythm with both of her glossy palms under her employ now. 

“How bad, Joel?” 

His prominent browline pitches in, though he never breaks eye contact. Finally he finds his words, “H-how bad what?” 

“How bad do you wanna fuck me?” 

A jolt of electricity sears through him, his veins igniting with infinitesimal sparks that branch and spider outwards; the unrestrained energy traverses through him, dousing his boiling blood with a waterfall of gasoline. The ensuing inferno arcs from one blood cell to the next, testing his system to within an inch of its limits.

“I wanna–fuck yes _harder_ , baby, gonna...come.” 

She goes harder on him, rounding his wet and swollen tip while firmly gripping him, now that she knows just how much he likes it like this.

“How bad, Joel? Tell me…” 

Ellie wants him to let go, to speak all those words he’s saving for one reason or another. Fear, uncertainty, whatever the case. She wants him to lay himself bare, to listen to his intentions and his desires just as he’s heard her own. 

Grumbling something unintelligible, he rests his forehead into the hollow opening between her skull and hers shoulder blade and lowly, “Wanna fuck...you so g’ddamn bad. Wanna stretch ya, wan-na feel that drippin’ cunt come on me an’ keep on...fuck-in’ ya…” 

Ellie turns and sucks on his neck, his lobe, “Good, now give it to me, Joel.” 

She glimpses all the severe angles of him – the very structure he’s composed of – as it’s emphasized by the coruscating light. Every muscle in his arms, his belly and back go rigid with all that raw, tensile strength Ellie will never tire of. It’s delicious, a sight she won’t take for granted, not now, not ever. An image she will try to recreate time and time again, so long as she has her way. 

He’s in for it now. 

“Fuck...Ell...ie…” 

And then he orgasms. His hips snap as Joel shifts into a pace that’s far less practiced as he thrusts into her wetted seize as though it were more than just her hands. There’s a series of low, eruptive grunts and with those, he spurts the first rope of his pyretic seed onto her swollen button. He continues to shoot hard and fast after, this time onto her pink hood and the lower part of her that he really shouldn’t be – but she wants this, asked for it. He wants this, too, and _more_. She’s holding him all the while, stroking slower now as she tries to earn every last drop of him. 

Joel lets Ellie milk him for all he’s got but her actions are easing alongside the tendrils of his staggering climax. She squeezes one final time as she summits the head of him and steals the last globule of white. 

She brings her thumb to her lips and licks it clean, looking at him as she tastes and discerns all those heady nuances that are his and his alone. 

He watches her, noting the mischief he loves so much glinting in the corners of her eyes. 

She looks away and assesses the state he’s left them in. His spend is all over her sex, some of which she can sense sliding between her ass cheeks and tickling her as it falls. There’s even a bit pooling just below her navel. “Fuck, that was a lot…” 

He breathes, snorts a bit and shakes his head, “It’s you, Ellie, all you.” 

She laughs, “I wanna do that again.” 

“Damn, girl. I reckon ain’t got nothin’ left in there after that. Drained me.” 

“Tomorrow then. Morning.” 

Joel laughs, descends to the girl’s chest and kisses the spot just north of her heart, “Mmhm. Wanna get’a bath with me?” 

“Thought you’d never ask.”

††††

“Do you know what went down between Joel and Beth last night?” Maria Miller kicks a fluffy-socked foot towards her husband's leg as he sips the last of his morning juice. “You’ve been pretty quiet about your brother and that woman, and I know _something_ happened, Tommy. Beth ended up getting fairly drunk and left with Seth at the bitter end. Which...ugh. But anyway.”

Tommy clears his throat and runs a hand through the length of his long hair, closing his eyes and yawning in tandem. It’s early for this sort of conversation. Even she knows that. 

“I jus’ know he set the record straight is all.” 

“And what IS the straightened record?”

The man rises and places his breakfast dishes into the sink. He’ll tend to them later. 

“Joel ain’t interested. In her, I mean.” 

“Your brother is a stubborn old mule, Tom.” 

“That he is, Em. That he is.” 

Maria studies her man out of the corner of an eye, a question lingering on her lips but hesitancy hanging alongside it as well. 

_’Fuck it.’_

“Okaaay, so he’s not interested in Beth Fleurs. Not really surprising, woman’s shrill. But the way you said that makes me believe he’s interested in someone. You holding information back from me, Mr. Miller?” 

Tommy spins and sets his rear to the kitchen basin, palms the counter on either side of his person and clicks his tongue, “That ain’t for me to say, sweetheart.” 

“Dammit. I thought the whole ‘Mr. Miller’ ruse would work. You two and your brother-secrets pact. Might I remind you of that fat lip and the other generous gifts he gave you last week?” 

He huffs, “No ma’am. Ain’t forgettin’ those anytime soon. Bastard packs’a mean right.” 

“Drives me nuts, that temper of his sometimes. Still, we’re going to dinner tonight, right? As in, we’re good to resume our Sunday get-togethers? Maybe Joel will mention who he IS interested in while we’re there...” 

The man nods again as he sucks his teeth and peers through the window that’s adjacent to their kitchenette table. There’s a Black-capped Chickadee perched on a bare branch in the yard – though Tommy doesn’t know that much about the bird, he’s merely appreciating it. Or, more correctly, stalling for time and wondering just how to placate his wife. 

“Dinner’s on. Not sure ‘bout the rest yet, woman. Gonna get dressed for service. Joinin’ me?” He winks at that last, walks to his girl and kisses her. 

She takes his hand. 

They go upstairs.

††††

_Ellie touches her belly and feels the movement of life as he shifts inside of her. She’s swollen, brimming with love and a heart so full it feels as though it may breach right through her breastbone._

_She’s standing in a field somewhere, or no, in a lush garden that’s behind their home – a home that looks foreign but doesn’t feel alien to her. There’s a bounty of ripe tomatoes and bushels of freshly-picked beets. Life. Life is all around her._

_The girl gazes out into a horizon that bleeds with every color of the dying daylight – it’s what she envisions whenever she thinks of Joel. When she thinks of the baby he’s given her. The baby he can’t wait to hold, coddle and teach. She knows he’s excited for all of those things but that last part really gets him talking. He wants to pass on all that he knows, to ensure safety and to love fiercely. That’s who he is._

_The girl hears him off in the distance, working on the ancient tractor that’s been sitting, looking every bit of the lost element of a country-living postcard – Greetings, The Millers. The thing has been aging and immobile in the front of their yard for as long as they’ve been here. She doesn’t mind it but Joel says it could help ease their work tenfold and why not? Why not, baby, why not? Baby._

_And besides, he thinks he can stoke it back to life. Ellie thinks he can do anything._

_She walks on, cutting through waves of wheat-gold and stirring up the dust of dry soil. She’s approaching a flock of sheep and is that a lone lamb in their midst? She can’t discern from this far away but feels it in her gut that they are what she believes them to be._

_I’m not who I believe myself to be._

_The left hand, the one with the silver band on it, soothes her extended middle as she treks, her eyes never leaving that baby lamb._

_“Hey! How’d you get out?”_

_It doesn’t answer because of course it doesn’t, but the lamb stops and stares at her. Stares and stares and stares. Stares until its eyes shift in shade and grow bigger and wider and meaner._

_It’s...not a lamb anymore, it’s...wrong. It’s all wrong. The poor thing is mutating, sprouting plates and losing its tiny teeth to a split right down the center of its skull. It’s eyes are red now, red like a fever, red like disease and sickness._

_Infected._

_Ellie runs to it, trying to scoop the creature into her fervent arms as it bleats and cries out for her. Cries for her embrace, cries for her explanation. Why, why, why have me this way? Ellie loops her arms around its belly and pulls but it’s futile._

_As she struggles to pry it from where it’s rooted, to offer whatever comfort and love she can in this moment of strange and scary change, a clicking noise rises from its throat. But clicking or not, rooting or not, the animal doesn’t run despite her not being able to lift it. Instead, this little dying lamb is sinking into the earth, into that dark place, into the next place. Where we are when we aren’t anymore._

_I’m not who I believe myself to be._

_Ellie screams, covers her ears and closes her eyes. She’s bending as well as she can, mindful of the unborn child inside of her._

_Silence._

_Jade eyes split to find that the lamb is gone. There’s only a disturbance in the dirt where it once was. No graves, no signs it was ever even alive._

_Bile rises in her throat._

_She stands and fights a wave of nausea and dizziness. Fights to go back, to undo and save that little love that never was._

_But the sun is gone, the sheep and the lamb, too. And the metallic clunks and bangs she once heard from Joel’s whereabouts have also seemingly ceased._

_“Joel?”_

_“You lied to me?”_

_She turns and glimpses him by the door of the red barn. “No, I–”_

_“You lied to me.”_

_“I was protecting us. Look! Look what will happen…”_

_**“You**...lied.” _

_Ellie’s shoulders cave forward as her stars begin to collapse in a catastrophic display of disintegration, her stomach, too. She’s emptying out, losing all that love, all that chance and choice and life._

_“I’m sorry.”_

_But Joel’s no longer there to hear her._

Joel is first to unseal his sleep-leaden hazels, only it’s to the sound of a low, awful whimpering. It’s an innate trigger of a silent alarm within his chest, urging him awake. 

He rises and finds Ellie in his arms, shaking, a fine sheen of sweat layering her flush skin. He knows what this is. It’s been a few nights and though her tremors are less and less violent when they capture her for their untimely visits, the pain of her unreality is difficult for him to see. Each and every time. If anything, it’s getting harder...and slightly more concerning. 

But that musing is for later. Now is for her. 

He cradles the girl, pulling Ellie closer to his bare center and kneading the malleable flesh of her arms and midsection. “Shh, baby. I’m here.” 

By now he understands how to go about this whole process – he needs to start slow and ease her from these nightmares versus shocking her out of them. That seems to help and more often than not it keeps them farther from her when night falls and it’s time for sleep. Well, if his unscientific experiments can be trusted. 

There’s an unnerving angle to all of this – his death – but it’s beyond that now. He just wants to help her and try as he might, it’s not working. Not in the long term sense at least.

“Ellie… C’mon, pretty. Wake up for me.” 

There’s the whisper of an utterance at that, a murmuring that’s so low and so sad his heart fractures and bleeds out into the wide expanse of his chest. 

He shifts apart and lays her on her back; she’s naked but he’s not paying attention to that now. He’s mostly naked, too, minus his boxers, but he’s not paying attention to that either. Instead he puts himself on top of her – careful to keep his morning erection as far apart from this as he can manage. 

“Ellie.” 

He kisses her forehead, her eyes, her cheeks and then suspends by her lips, “Come back to me, darlin’. I’m right here.” 

The girl’s arms wrap to Joel’s middle before she’s even fully awake. She clings and squeezes, marrying her hands behind him and pulling him down, pulling him closer. 

She’s crying now. 

“Joel.” 

“I’m here. ‘S’okay. Tell me what ya need.” 

Finally, her lids reveal the dull gradient of two bloodshot, wild and weary eyes, “I need to tell you the truth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, where do I start? As always, thank you. The response to this story continually blows my mind but it's extended so far beyond that now. So, to everyone who has clicked on this story, read and subbed, commented, etc., just THANK YOU. I am happy that you willingly put time into this passion project of mine. To the Discord, this one is for you. Each and every one of you. Chatting with y'all has been such a highlight and has taken this worn and weary soul and made it _better._ I am without words and gratefully in your debt. Clarence thanks you, too. ;) 
> 
> Let's GET TO SOME NOTES (does anyone like these or is it a waste? Honestly!):  
> • Beth is really that bish, huh? Delved into a little more of her story here and though I know we don't like her (because I mean, how), it's all crucial to the story and therefore, needed to be told.  
> • Abby...must I repeat the first bullet point? She's doing what she can and moving at her own pace and yet keeping in with those who could be of use to her. We'll see more of that but which of the two did we dislike the most here? Interesting.  
> • Tommy and Ellie...I really enjoy cultivating this relationship and his snark is going to be thrown into overdrive in the coming chapters. Hopefully everyone is taking to them as much as I have because he's going to feature prominently in a lot of ways.  
> • Joel and Ellie and that walk home – there's still some unsaid ire there and I think we'll need to explore that as time goes on. Time in the sense that I don't skip a damn beat and that's just how it is, lol.  
> • Joel. And. Ellie. At home. That's the most extensive scene I've written in that regard to date. Thoughts? Would love 'em.  
> • Tommy and Maria be cute. But his wife's curiosity could spell trouble and I think Tommy, despite his clever workarounds, will be put into some uncomfortable situations in the near future.  
> • Ellie having another dream, albeit far far different than the norm. Her subconscious is really fun to play with and when it comes to dreams and the fluidity and freedom of them, I can't help but dabble. Besides, they are a huge contributing factor to this entire thing so, seems likely they'll be peppering in now and again. 
> 
> And that's Chapter 13! So much more on the horizon (and the holidays still...because I'm a slow ass writer apparently!) 
> 
> Thank you thank you thank you. For the sporadic comments (I've lost some folks but gained a whole lot of friends and just, wow) and the enthusiasm. My cup runneth. xx


	14. & Systematic Crucifixion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Miller's discuss Joel and Ellie leaving for the University of Eastern Colorado and what that might mean for the future and the heart of a family unit once torn apart. After, Ellie shares her truth and Joel speaks his, then there's a moment of respite and soul searching before another Sunday dinner with a bonus game night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *peeks in* I am _late_ but finally 14 is here! The end of January leached this girl dry and I've been wildly out of sorts for a multitude of reasons, all of which I will spare you. But OTS returns with some angst, fluuuuffy spice and good times. The spice is but a hint of flavor this go around...but I've said too much already. 
> 
> As always, meet me at the close. x

“What’re you doing back here? Where’s Ellie? And Joel? Did something happen?” 

Tommy pitches forward in contemplation and oscillates his head in silence; he walks to his wife with a somber show of despondent movements, saying nothing, worrying the moment more than he means to. He’s been caught wildly off guard – left with another loss and there’s not been time enough to process let alone speak the reality of it aloud. So his heart wears heavy as his empathy begins to run thin; his limbs, gait and energy are betraying him with every laborious step. 

Maria is at their dining room table with a daily set of lists and the town manifests, studying her spouse in a reverential quiet. She picks at the paperwork, mindlessly squaring its edges as the stack rests within the pocket of a handcrafted leather binder. 

As she fidgets with the thing, minuscule bits of faded brown flake, feather and fall from this beloved dossier – it's worn and well used but it’s obvious that the woman loves it despite its numerable years. 

She looks to it for a brief respite from the sudden storm surge that’s blown into her home. Looks and bleeds some of the familiar warmth that’s imbued into her talisman from days long gone. 

It was her father’s: This keeper of the town ledger was once John Carson’s a long, long time ago and he treasured it just as fondly as his daughter does now. The patriarch viewed it as a way to retain an ideology – to cling fast and true to a tangible sense of normalcy amidst the chaos of a dying species...and the beauty of a thriving planet. A balm to placate and remind him of what once was while building what could be. 

It means the world to her. 

Maria abandons the momentary pang of grief that’s singing the undercarriage of her heart, knowing that gazing into the past won’t earn the answers she seeks now. The answers she awaits from the solemn man in her purview. 

So, she readjusts, closing the folder and focusing her attention onto the state he’s in and their shared present. Everything beyond this can wait. 

“Tommy? What happened to Joel and Ellie?” 

At the supplicating tone to Maria’s voice, he snaps to, wholly unaware to the collision of heartache that’s just visited his partner. He’s too lost in his own. 

“He ended up takin’ her instead.”

There’s an abrupt shift in her light blues but it’s the tentative, hesitant type. They reflect relief yes, but there’s dissonance and concern there all the same. He appreciates the multitudes. Still, it’s as though she’s waiting on good and bad news or a _...but_ that will see her husband leaving again. 

“Wait… What? Why would-”

Tommy levers a wooden chair from beneath the table and all but falls into it. It clips Maria’s inquiring, this woesome defeat she’s witnessing in real time. 

“We got back from where Ellie’d run off to – that old farm house down the hill a’ways – an’ then at the outskirts’a Jackson, Joel just...changed his mind.” 

Maria twists in her seat to confront her man directly but instead dumbfoundedly stares for a moment; Tommy is weary, and visibly sad – his shoulders hang low, his eyes all but crestfallen but it’s his heart that steals her breath. That heart of his is bearing the weight of this...whatever _this_ is...far more than all the rest. 

“Why would he change his mind? You made it sound like he was all but desperate to drop Ellie off on you and hightail it out of here.” 

Tommy digs a nail into a sizable dent left on the table and shrugs, “Reckon he was, but somethin’ happened at that house. Walked in on ‘em havin’ a pretty tense discussion but there were hunters an’ we needed’a handle ‘em.” 

“Do you know what was said?” 

“No, but he sounded pissed an’ she looked downright pitiful.” 

“Ah. Sounds like Joel.”

“Yeah, ah.”

Maria extends a hand and clasps Tommy’s, “Are you alright?”

“I…sure.”

“Tommy, look at me.”

He does. 

“Talk to me? I’m here.”

He will. 

Sighing, he rubs his forehead and suspends the seconds; Tommy stretches them, feels the vibrations of each _tick-tick-tick_ from the wall clock as time maddeningly spins on. He’s stealing more than stalling, siphoning the reserves of his will power to discover some sort of reasoning to make sense of this. For him and for her.

Finally, “Haven’t seen that man in almost ten years an’ then he shows up outta the blue. I just...I guess I hoped he’d stay is all. More than half’a damn day at least.”

“So… You had your brother back for hardly any time at all. And now that he’s gone again you’re missing him. But it’s not just that, is it?” 

Tommy bounces his head ever-so, his gaze focusing on the simple but elegant centerpiece. It’s a dynamic mix of Autumn flowers – most of which he can’t even begin to name but all of which bear the seasonal, appealing hues of Fall. They’re pleasant and pretty, despite his morose mood. 

Absently, “Mmhm.”

It’s this gathering of warm oranges, rich browns and buttercup yellows that directs a spotlight on just how vivid a contrast there is at current. There’s an alluring invocation of change on the horizon but alongside that is a bloom of regret and fear. It’s seeding low in his belly, the thoughts growing and sprouting a darkness despairingly undesired. They’re the unbecoming, these spidery weeds within his sinew – ruiners that exist only to wreak havoc. 

“You’re...you’re afraid, too.” 

“Mmhm.”

“Of losing him for good this time.”

“Yeah.”

“Because of that girl.” 

“Yup.”

“Tommy, look at me please.” 

He curls his lower lip and turns to his wife. 

“You’re allowed to be sad. I _want_ you to be sad about this. Shows you’ve not lost all that love in your big, beautiful heart – that same heart I fell for so many years ago when you came into my life like a bat outta hell. Listen, we know nothing is for certain in this world and it never was. Things happen, we make choices, we take sides. And then we go on. There’s always the next thing. And um, now that I’m thinking of next things...” 

He assesses his wife’s features in the breadth between, notes the contouring of her frown and the age lines by her eyes as she prepares for whatever is next. Knows she’s calculating her words carefully.

“Do you know where they’re going? You mentioned somewhere in Colorado?”

He tilts to one side – that's not what he was expecting her to say. Not even remotely in range, if he’s being honest with himself. 

“Oh…UEC, the University of Eastern Colorado. That’s where they’re headed. There’s an active Firefly lab there.” 

“Why? What’s so important about Ellie that Joel _has_ to get her to the Fireflies as soon as humanly possible? Why couldn’t they stay for awhile?” 

Tommy pointedly, albeit uselessly, searches the room; the space is empty and it’s only the pair of them with all the world at their door...but he hesitates just the same. He understands what he’s about to reveal could go one of two ways. He merely hopes it’s not _that_ other way. The disbelieving, jerking-me-around sort of way. The man feels far too thin to deal with that on top of everything else. 

“Ellie’s immune.” 

Silence greets but the stillness is not so loud as to rise above the fervent pacing of his anticipatory heart. It’s a thunderous thing, booming like the synchronous beating of drums, his bones bending from the inside out. 

He allows it all to happen – his hushed panic, too – as Tommy stoically sits in this muted aftermath. It’s part of his wife’s process when dealing with nearly everything and everyone – to discern whether he’s being forthcoming or even moderately deceptive. He doesn’t take it personally, knows her well enough to know better. 

But Maria learned half a decade back that Tommy was not a deceiving type of man. Therefore, this must be the facts as he believes them to be. 

Finally, “Excuse me?” 

“I’m serious, Em. Ellie’s immune to CBI. Joel’s takin’ her to the lab. There’s a doctor there that Marlene says – Marlene bein’ the leader of the faction – is waitin’ on the girl to make a cure. A vaccine, whatever.” 

Maria releases Tommy’s fingers and attaches herself to the solid wood of her seatback. Her lips part and pupils dilate as her air intake repeatedly finishes in a pattern of slow, shallow exhalations. 

“Wha...how?” 

“Don’t know. But she is. Joel wouldn’t’a travelled this far if it wasn’t for a good damn reason. Wouldn’t’a come...here otherwise. Not to me.” 

Maria stares at the binder and an errant page or two that’s slipped from its innards; the woman feels embarrassingly inept all of a sudden – she can’t read the scribbling there nor can she decipher the letters from the lines; she feels upside down, as though the world is twisting her round and round and round like a useless toy. 

The contents of her stomach tumble as the front of her skull starts to throb; she’s barely managing to keep up with the melee of this momentous reveal and yet trying to carve a pathway through to the opposite side of this already. It’s her way.

She adjusts, nods to no one and, “Joel, he...he asked you to take her initially, right?” 

“You see why now.” 

“Maybe. I mean, you think it’s because of Sarah, yeah?”

“That’s it.” 

“Shit, Tommy. That’s why you’re so afraid. Because you know he can’t lose her, too.”

The man tucks his chin to his chest as his lip quivers in reaction to Maria’s realizations; it’s overwhelming him, flooding his system with far too many fears and one too many emotions at once. His niece’s death and the harrowing guilt at his untimely arrival and the needing to live with that failure for years and years afterwards. Then there’s the very undeniable possibility that he may never see Joel again. But it’s more than just loss. 

It’s capability and determination on the high wire, too. 

But it’s one thing for Tommy to know fully well what his brother is capable of...it’s a whole other punch to his gut to think that his wife might have learned of these mortally steadfast traits already. It was an infinitesimal amount of time and yet, Maria seems to have cherry-picked this facet as plainly as though it were laid out at her behest. And all of it in spite of Joel’s wavering on Ellie initially.

Those traits in question of a kind that the younger Miller hasn’t been privy to in far too lengthy a spell. A lifetime ago, if the fading, illegible script on his walls is any indication. 

Whenever Tommy wonders about his brother or mulls on an incidental nightmare from _before_ , he does what he’s able and remands it to the lockbox of _no more_. 

This is standard issue for those who remain, the living and thriving ones – the folk most acclimated with the severity of the CBI apocalypse. They know intimately the evisceration of mankind and all the sacrificial lambs left in its moldy wake. Lambs they themselves have slaughtered or the wailing ones that were silenced when good men stood by and did nothing. 

Of course none of this is breaking news, not this far into the viruses ravaging persistence. Survivability meant character assassination for some alongside the wavering of morals and justice for others. So it was never an unreasonable feat for Tommy to recognize the defining lines of before versus after and contend with it all as he deems fit. 

But the emergence of a great and gruesome barrier on the heels of Joel’s inexpiable crucifixion proved to be the hardest melee for the younger man. It was the line in the sand – a ruinous moment for one brother while the other was made to watch. A good man who could do nothing. 

Though in all fairness, it hadn’t been an immediate vacating of self for the eldest Miller. In fact, in the beginning it was a gradual decline, a hill so smooth Tommy hadn’t noticed much...until they approached a steep drop off and Joel fell face first.

He recollects that night and hears the echoes of what preceded it in all the years that led to that catastrophe; Tommy shivers a spell as he senses the tenebrosity return – as the howls of hungry demons, the gnashing of teeth and the sickly snap of bones bounce in the cavernous concave of his skull. 

That beautiful, loving woman who met his brother when life was void and wholly meaningless – a hollow abyss of a man, his head and his heart forfeit to a single punishing end. She didn’t deserve him and she didn’t deserve what happened to her. 

Still, Tommy tried, he really had tried. During those last days, his heart bore witness to more than just the grandiosity of her gory finale but of his own, too. Through all his protestations and all his imploring, nothing could sway the girl or pull her from Joel’s singularity. Just as nothing could keep Tommy around afterwards. 

That horrifying sequence of events was the proverbial straw – divisive enough to tear the last remnants of their familial bond, thus causing the younger man to make his hasty exodus. His brother’s soulless and callous behavior had bent and shattered their relationship to its breaking point. That night and her death had merely solidified it. 

Everything became far too heartbreaking and much too frightening for Tommy to withstand another hour of it. 

Yet today, _this_ day had been different. Indelibly different at that. 

Tommy glimpsed beyond just an errant whim of the protective, careful heart that once beat and bled out for others; for the first time in over twenty years, Tommy saw hints of Joel, of _his_ big brother, as he used to be. That thought transcends the rest, rattling his cage whilst sparking a tentative hope that things can and have changed. 

“Hey, Tommy?” 

Maria’s voice is there again, calling him forth from the confusing clarity of his recess. 

“Mmhm, no you’re right. He can’t lose anymore than he has. An’ I feel he’s gonna get himself killed seein’ to that girl. It feels for certain this time, Em.” 

Maria leans into her husband and grasps his bicep, “You don’t know that. The Fireflies might...do what they need to do and send them on their way. And maybe they’ll come back here.” 

A weary gaze meets its reflection in Maria’s and he can read the struggle breaching her surface – she doesn’t believe that argument either but is lending it her best, given the circumstances. The woman is trying for him and him alone, Tommy understands that. Likely doesn’t even enjoy the idea of Joel living in Jackson and yet she would tolerate it and make the best of things for his sake. 

But he can’t think about that. Not now, at least.

“An’ if they don’t send ‘em on their way, or if Joel and Ellie never even make it to UEC for one reason or the next, I reckon I won’t know either way.” 

“You can’t think like that, Tommy. Trust that your brother will be alright. That Ellie will be able to donate blood or whatever it is they need from her and that the faction won’t hide the damn thing behind a paywall...or worse.”

He tilts back, kneading his thighs before rubbing their length in temporary reverence, “I can’t...if they try to do anythin’...menacin’ to that girl, I–I’m gonna lose him, Em. He won’t let them.” 

Maria nods, gnawing on the question she longs to speak but isn’t sure it’s appropriate at present. She needs to. It’s who she is. 

“Tommy, what if it’s all bullshit?” 

The man snaps his focus to her and pinches his brow, “Bullshit? I just said he wouldn’t’a done what he done by bringin’ that girl here if it weren’t real. An’ he surely wouldn’t risk her life, or his, by goin’ back out into that shithole neither.” 

“Okay, I get that, I do. But do _you_ really believe he’s changed that much? And so quickly at that?” 

Tommy snorts and sniffs dismissively, “What is this, Em? My brother might very well be on his way to an honorable death an’ you’re tryin’ to undo it all by doubtin’? Why?” 

“I’m not trying to undo anything, Tommy. I’m trying to understand this – all of this – based on what I’ve come to know of your brother. Based on what _you_ have told me through the years about Joel. So okay yes, this girl could be the cure for humanity – great. But why is _Joel_ playing hospital messenger and world savior? Why is he suddenly this good guy doing a good thing? It seems the complete opposite of who you’ve led me to believe he was all along, if I’m being honest. And listen, I’m glad you’re not the one charged with her, I am. But-” 

“You can’t be serious with this shit right now. Ya know what happened the night of the outbreak an’ we just talked ‘bout it not five minutes back. I told you ‘bout it all plenty’a times for it to seat by now. Why is it so hard to believe that this girl might really mean somethin’ to him?” 

The woman clenches her jaw and drops a palm to the wooden tabletop beside her ledger. It lands with a _smckk_ that permeates the chilled air leaching into the canyon between their tense sentences. The woman is frustrated and annoyed with her husband’s rigid stance all of a sudden. 

“Why? _Why_ is it so hard? Tommy, Sarah or not, how many times have you said, and I quote, ‘he was a dead man, a killin’, unfeelin’ machine – a goddamn soulless ghoul,’ and more. But one little girl falls into his world and somehow manages to undo two decades worth of shit living and you’re sold? Because he’s your brother? Is it that simple?” 

Tommy drinks a lungful of the ire that’s gathering on his tongue and, “I saw it in his eyes, Maria. I _caught_ it. Somethin’ about that girl is different. I dunno what it is, can’t even begin to guess but whatever happened in that house an’ all the months it took ‘em to reach us must’a...did somethin’ twenty years couldn’t. So yeah, it is that simple an’ I am sold, dammit. Otherwise my brother would be on his way back East an’ I’d be goin’ to college.” 

Maria exhales in resignation and puffs her cheeks, closing her azure and squeezing the bridge of her nose after, “You want to go after them, don’t you?” 

Tommy rises at that and puts his back to the table, “I do. They could do better with my help than without it.” 

Maria follows suit and rounds his position to stand at his front, “You really think you saw him for the last time today, don’t you?” 

Tommy breaks at this, his breath releasing in short, ragged rasps as he tries to hide from her. Hide his worry, the impending grief and all the nuance that’s falling into the hollow crevices of those visceral emotions. He peers through the bay window in search of the quiet, peaceful town that lies beyond the brick and mortar of his home, praying for some of that peace for his own well-being. 

He imagines what life could be like to have his brother returned for good – in all ways. To share his days and this simple, beautiful world with his only kin. To get to know this new man...or meet again the one he once knew. 

The fantasy doesn’t tarry on for too long and at last, he nods in admission, “I do. An’ it’s killin’ me, Em.” 

She steps into his space and loops her arms to his waist, flattening her palms to the taut muscles that encase his spine, “Maybe they’ll return when it’s all done. He’s made it this far, Tom. From all the shit you’ve said of that man, it sounds like surviving is something he’s really damn good at.”

Tommy pushes his nose to her hair and brings the woman nearer to him, winding both limbs to her person; she’s as close to him as he can manage without hurting her. He’d never hurt her. 

“I’m prayin’ for it.” 

“Then keep on praying. I will, too.” 

“You don’t want me to go after ‘em, do ya?” 

“Not now, no. You’d be completely on your own. They’re likely far enough ahead already that it’d be a risk. And you don’t know the exact route they’re taking.”

Tommy clicks his tongue and, “Ya know I been on my own before, woman. An’ I done just fine.” 

“I know, but you’ve got more to lose now. And so do I. Don’t make this harder than it has to be. He chose to go, I want you to stay.” 

“Maybe...in a couple’a weeks I can wrangle up a small crew an’ go to UEC. See if they’re still there or...whatever.” 

Her volume deflates as she sags against his chest, recognizing that until there’s proof of life – or otherwise – _this_ strain and discontent will most assuredly persist well into their future. Not that it shouldn’t, but her heart is already worse for the wear and Maria suspects it will continue on in this vein for a while yet. 

“Yeah, maybe. There’s a few guys I think I’ll be able to spare. But Tommy…” 

He allows the warning of her statement to loiter, allowing her time enough to prepare for what he’s sure to come. 

“If you get to UEC and Joel isn’t there, that’s the end of the line. You come home.” 

The man knows what she’s saying, knows that if he goes any further in this quest for his brother, she either won’t agree to it _or_ won’t be here waiting if or when he returns. 

“Understood.” 

She holds his jaw in the bowls of her hands, rubs her fingers across the coarse hair of his graying beard and forces a smile, “Good. I love you too much to lose you.” 

Tommy kisses his girl after and remains in her stead, holding onto his wife and being held in tandem. Being held accountable, yes, but also within her heart, too. 

Still, despite this, his emotions are simultaneously swelling and submerging, as if he were drowning one fathom at a time and feeble to cease his descent. He attempts to center his thoughts in regards to Joel and what he saw today with Ellie – it helps, marginally. He thinks of Maria, too, and all the love he’s found in this community and within the safety of her heart. 

But the odds are piling against him and backing him into a corner; he knows there will likely be an undefinable moment where a choice presents itself before him. 

A choice between his brother and his wife – an impossible dichotomy. 

Tommy’s healed soul hopes it never comes to that.

††††

“The truth? Truth ‘bout what?”

Ellie burrows her face into Joel’s bicep, veiling her sage while oppressing the saline that threatens to expose the entirety of her raw emotions. She goes on this way, refusing to answer him but he’s amenable and not hurrying this, not rushing her. 

But the silence _is_ stretching on and wearing thin in the residual space lingering between them. Even in the state she’s in, Ellie can deduce as much. 

“Darlin’?” 

“...Me.” 

“What?” 

“I… _fuck._ Joel, I lied to you...” 

He reconfigures his position at that, not overtly moving apart from her but rather widening the gap – an effort to gain a better balance for his weight and nothing more. But she winces nevertheless and he cringes inwardly. It’s not what he’s intending here but he pushes onward, needing to get to the root of this. 

“Okay. Lied ‘bout what? An’ when?” 

Ellie kisses the arm she’s clinging to, her tongue peeking through to tease the relaxed, albeit firm, muscle there. She inhales; his skin is an aroma of pine and fresh linen – he’s clean, warm and so very near to her. Ellie hopes Joel will always be near to her, even after the reveal of her heart. 

She doesn’t look at him yet, just keeps her mouth to him and, “At the Baldwin place.” 

Using his chin, he rubs his beard against her hair, trying to nudge the girl from the protective bubble of _him_ she’s using as a shelter, “C’mon, Red. Eyes up on me. What’s goin’ on?” 

The girl shakes with a definitive ‘no’ but Joel won’t have it; he dips down and kisses her neck, slowly rising up and over her completely – no more half measures. He hovers there a beat, feels his cock hanging in his boxers as the tip slips between her smooth inner thighs; she’s bare beneath him, so beautifully exposed and laid out but that’s not what this moment is. It’s not. 

He twitches anyway.  
Redirects. 

“So at the Mansion, ya tellin’ me you lied ‘bout somethin’?” 

Ellie moves slowly below the man, partially raising and lowering the limb his dick is resting against; she gazes upwards as per his command, noting curiosity and...something in addition to that heavily laden look that drives her insides wild with lustful need. It’s beyond that though, this emotion he’s openly sharing from those boundlessly colorful hazels of his. 

She nods. 

“Okay…” 

Joel clicks his tongue as he tries to separate his wandering thoughts; he means to unearth which part of their night alone at that place – including the tense fight – is what she’s alluding to here. There were protocols followed, a startling panic attack, their first kiss and plenty more – and all of it occurred in such a fleeting span of time, both within and without the confines, that it’s proving arduous to make heads or tails. 

“I told you that I–that I...didn’t…” Ellie pauses as a tremor tears through her resolve, overthrowing the agency of her lower lip. She quivers and seals herself away again as each of her arms release and relinquish him, dropping down onto her belly with a solid _twck_. She settles into this position and holds herself, flattening each palm to the taut skin above her naked sex. 

He watches this scene unfold in fretting silence, feeling the absence of her warmth much like winter’s melancholy as it longs for the high summer sun. But the lack of physical contact allows him to focus better and it doesn't take more than half a minute or so before clarity and sensibility see fit to guide the man. 

His neck angles slightly to the rear as he wets his dry lips and, “Kids. Ya said you didn’t want kids.” 

Joel’s been thinking of that impactful sentence for over a week now and yet it took this long to reach a blatantly obvious conclusion. Love is truly blinding. 

The girl blinks beneath him, her eyes saucer-round and as extraordinary as they’ve ever been; her green-golds are a radiating gradient as they capture the early, pale light that’s sneaking through a frosty set of bedroom windows. The oil lamp has long since burned itself empty, its liquid depleted and diminished from a night well spent together – a night of discovery and desperate pleas that would have any man offering his everything to hear it again. 

_’Not now.’_

After a few minutes pass, she nods, but it’s barely discernible – a wisp of a movement but Joel sees it all the same. 

“So…” He looks low on her body, from her quivering mouth to her pronounced collarbone, from her supple breasts to the beguiling sky of stars on her soft skin. On and on he travels, journeying down, down, down...until he beholds her motionless hands, each of which are laying level to the horizon of her supine body. 

“So.” Her voice cracks just enough to signify that they’re getting somewhere with this. 

“You want babies?” 

“I...well, it’s not that simple.” 

Joel searches her expression while easing his bulk farther down onto her, connecting them, leveraging himself closer again. His arms bend, elbows digging divots into the mattress by the bank of her ribs; he situates, partially mindful of his cock. The man was already halfway erect at her taunting leg lifts but after the direction this is taking, he’s almost fully hard now. 

Though he’s cautiously optimistic in regards to the exact reason for his physical reaction. She didn’t say _his_ kids. Hasn’t said much of anything yet, actually. But she is nude and underneath him – Joel’s lizard brain is reeling. 

_’Focus.’_

“Tell me. I wanna understand.” 

As the coarse hair of his belly tickles her knuckles, she withdraws her hands from that middle section and molds to his waistline.

“I’m afraid. I’m really fucking afraid, Joel.” 

“Of?” He’s terminally short when it comes to conversations in general but he’s making his replies even less substantial now – he wants to rip apart this uncertainty and offer her the room to let it all go. To pour it out for good. If it’ll stop the nightmares and cease the pain she’s experiencing, he’ll give her the whole damn house. Anything for her to experience that simplistic peace again. 

_’The nightmares started before we was ever at the Baldwin place…’_

“We–I don’t know enough about any of it. Can I even have children? Since I was a fucking orphan I always secretly imagined having a big family of my own even though I _know_ it’s not practical because the entire world is shit and Lord knows there’s a million ways to die in this life and without hospitals and proper medicine I’m basically dooming myself, right, and then there’s my fucking immunity, I mean, shit, Joel, where does that even factor? _How_ does it factor? Can I pass it on or will I grow sickly, disfigured bab-” 

She chokes a spell as her tears begin to cascade, falling into the shadowy curvature of her ears, flooding her canals with future days of potential loss and suffering. So much that the warm liquid is spilling beyond the rim of her cartilage, drip-dropping and saturating her hair and parts of the pillow that lies beneath her. The girl’s shoulders are racking forward from the weight and release of it all – so many questions, so many fears, doubts and uncertainties. Red flags, warnings, and doubtful whispers, too. 

That maybe she’s not meant to possess the one thing she hopelessly seeks. That the risk is too great. That she really should have died in that hospital and that was to be all there was in the Tale of Ellie Williams, The Immune. 

Ellie flinches – the girl can still hear that bleating, dying lamb as it disappeared into the toxic soil, deformed and diseased as it fell to an agonizing, unjust death. And then the baby in her belly disintegrating all the while, and Joel...who was just gone. So very gone. As though he never existed at all. Not ever, not once. 

She cries harder. 

“Hey, hey…” His voice is gentle but steady as he twines his fingers into a mess of deep red, directing Ellie onto him, “Try an’ calm down. S’alright. That’s a lot, baby. That’s a whole lot. An’ I don’t got any answers for ya. I sure wish I did, I really do. But...I do got a question.” 

He rubs his fingers slowly into her scalp, mimicking the pace and cadence of when she plays with his hair and ears and all the bits of his person that she seems to favor so much. The parts that ground and return her to a far better present than any nightmare or fear has ever lent either of them. 

Joel waits for her air to regulate as he does this, studying the rise and descension of her chest until it finds a normal rhythm again. After, he thumbs the tears from the edges of her eyes, dries her as best he’s able and slips back into the damp waves of her voluminous auburn. 

“O...okay?” 

“Do you want babies?” 

She exhales and nods.

“Nuh uh, gotta say this one out loud, El.” 

She swallows, curls her lip and, “Yes. I do.” 

“Then you’ll have ya some babies. That’s all there is to it.” 

She turns away for a brief respite and returns, gaze enervating and worrying all the while, “But it’s not just the fear of a child’s health or mine, Joel.” 

He opts to wait for more from her, wondering and hoping in tandem that whatever is next won’t leave him fatally wounded. It likely won’t and yet that uncertainty persists like the reverberating bongs of a bell that’s been tolled. 

“Tell me all’a it then.” 

“I’m afraid.” 

“Mhm. You mentioned it already.” 

“No, wait, yes. Hell…don’t–I am afraid of all the shit I mentioned but I’m mostly afraid to tell...you _everything_ and that...that’s-” 

“Why ya lied to me?” 

Ellie bobs emphatically, noting the severity of his tone but there’s a distinct lack of malice or anger to it; this goes miles in reassuring her. She’s well versed with Joel’s temperament, Lord knows she is, but right now he’s neither upset nor unsettled. In truth, he’s not even remotely in the realm of discontent, as far as she can gauge. 

He tips her chin, bringing her focus onto him, “Don’t gotta be afraid’a nothin’ with me, Ellie. It’s me.” 

The girl’s features break with a vacillating sort of smile and a brightness to her eyes that exhumes an otherworldly echo for Joel; her looking at him this way is an affirmation, a collision of sorts – his past and present interweaving together in real time. 

He’s recalling the cresting waves from his summers spent in the Gulf as a younger man. The waters south of Galveston were busy but vibrant, full-up with vivid blues and rich greens; the water was so warm, so effortlessly inviting, that Joel would rush out into the fray and await the consumption. They would submerge Joel into its roiling depths and it was like nothing he could have ever dreamed – just as she is to him now. 

_’Damn, those eyes, girl. Wish I could take ya there.’_

Thankfully, the dubiety that nearly suctioned him under is retaining less and less of an influence, fading into a chasm of unwanted and undesirable assumptions. Wasteful bits he’s happy to free himself of. 

This is _right._

She sniffs and titters but at last, delivers, “I don’t want a family with just anyone. I– _mmm_ -” The girl momentarily halts again, gulps and flares her nostrils as she battles to pacify her timorous insides. Nervously kneading the corded muscle that lines and sculpts his ribcage, Ellie finds feeling all that strength and power below his beautiful exterior helps to ground her. 

“I don’t want any of it unless I can have it with...one person. But I’m afraid that this man might not want the same. Maybe not willing or open to it, anyway. And I understand why, I really do. Or, as best I can at least.” 

Joel’s head tilts to the side as his throat constricts and tightens, his arms shaking just enough to let her know that _he knows_. Still, he realizes she will need more than his routine silence, more than an outward display of failed stoicism. 

But it’s his place to be wildly afraid now, to fear the sword of his tongue and the gravitas of the spoken word; Joel’s once again fearful of saying too much, of losing her at the precipice of what might be the next and rest of their lives literally beginning. Here, right now.

So he doesn’t. Not yet. 

Instead he stalls. Working up to it while showcasing all the venerating intentions he harbors for her. 

Sliding a measure, he scopes Ellie’s cinnamon galaxy and lays his lips to the very heart of their cluster; his breath blows across the plains of her bare flesh hot and heady as he does this, his tongue tasting and licking the alluring marks for the very first time. But before Joel forgoes the consequences of a cruel world that spins beyond this bed and their bodies, he notes the girl’s response to his actions: Ellie’s chest fills to capacity as her spine raises from the linen sheet she’s laying upon. 

She’s arching upwards and into his kiss, trying to control her air and all the electricity that’s striking through her veins at current. Her nipples are stone-hard as her skin dons a salacious pattern of pointillism – he’s given Ellie goosebumps. She looks dangerously gorgeous and his cock goes stiffer than it's ever been. Well, in the last few hours at least. 

There’s a wisp, an airy moan, but it’s more than just a submissive, needful noise; he knows she’s still seeking the answers to that unsaid question but she’s also battling physical incitement now, too. He’ll give them. The man will give everything to her. 

_’Joel…?’_

So impatient. 

He kisses lower still, his hands rounding the side of Ellie’s face towards her throat and jawline at the sound of the girl’s shameless whine; instinctively, and just as she did last evening, she sucks his middle finger and slowly begins to work it. He doesn’t let this carry on for too long however, as he needs that hand and all its fingers for what he wants to do next. 

It’ll be a simple thing, but he’s better at showing than telling. 

Joel hovers in the space below her navel, taking in her visibly empty abdomen first, then that pretty patch of dark red just south of his position. 

He grips his hands onto her hips, sculpting to the girl’s bones as he anchors and extends the moment. This only lasts a few seconds however; as he moves to hush her fervor, Joel slips his palms inwards on Ellie, placing them flat by the outskirts of her belly button. 

He peeks upwards and catches Ellie angling just enough to behold what he’s doing, to watch him with her curious, albeit earnest, eyes. Joel knows those greens are as wishful and pleading as they’ve ever been, can see the unflinching truth behind them. The intensity is a variance on last night’s theme but he recognizes the appearance and knows it’s a tell, a giveaway. 

He’ll spend the rest of his life seeking it, earning it. 

Joel smiles at the notion, at her, and follows this by kissing her belly and holding himself there; he’s breathing her and the entirety of this defining moment in. He’s never had this – the choice. Neither has she. 

It’s not long before both hands are in his blackgray and she’s pulling him closer, her legs widening and winding around his midsection to aid in the effort. 

There’s a gasp, a whimper and a shift in weight as her head collides with the pillow. 

_”Oh God…”_

He doesn’t remain in that hallowed place for too long though, no. He knows what’s required of him, now more than ever. So the man eases up, retracing the same path to find himself returned to her – to those soulful jades and that red, filthy mouth he adores. 

Once there, Joel doesn’t waste a moment before lining his hard length directly to her naked, boiling center. She expands the v of her legs and rolls herself to him, gluing her eyes shut and allowing herself to feel him this way. The pining for him is devouring, her desire mounting and body aching for him. For all of him. Ellie feels as though she may incinerate if she doesn’t have him inside of her sooner rather than later. 

Joel meets her movements and applies the right amount of exertion and pressure to that small, swollen area just above her drippy opening. She sucks in a perilous gasp and emits a low, mewling sound as her hands hook into the elastic band of his boxer-briefs. There’s a slight tug at his waist and though he wants to burn the last remnants of his clothing and laugh at its ashes, he doesn’t want to rush this. 

_’Fuck…’_

“Ellie?” He steals himself and her by proxy. 

By the heavy tone of his thick voice, she begrudgingly focuses and, “Hmm?”

He exhales, runs the pad of his thumb across her parted lips and, “I’m in love with you. Are ya sayin’ you wanna have my kids? Are ya askin’ me to give you that?”

The tears return hot, fast and in significant quantities, her hands traveling quick and unsteadily to cradle his face; she runs her nails along his beard and kisses him, nodding throughout; she tastes his proclamation, drinking in the raw nature of his love and the promise of what he’s laying bare. For her. What he’s offering _to_ her. 

She coils her limbs and secures her ankles by the small of his back, trying to get at all of him. To hold and cling and _feel_ the enormous presence of this man. To absorb the sizable promise of what might be. 

They kiss and feel and touch one another, hands everywhere, taking and giving breath all the same; Ellie is the first to part as she licks his spit from her ruby lips and nods enough that he understands. 

But she’s not the quiet type, has never been – this talk notwithstanding. He knows that and awaits in this wondrous silence for what dances on the edge of that tongue. Joel isn’t waiting for long. 

“Mmhm...Yes. I want you, Joel. I want you so fucking much. In every goddamn way. It scares the shit out of me how much I want you, how much I crave and…lo-” 

His impatience intervenes, severing his girl’s sentiments as he crashes into her; they’re a mess of limbs, love and lust colliding and acknowledging it all together. Finally. 

Their movements are woefully thin insofar as grace and elegance and yet they’re intertwining as though they’ve done this a thousand times before, in a thousand lifetimes apart from this one. They’re fluid with one another – rolling and rocking in a sensual tempo, like mesmerizing sea drifts; Joel thrusts up to meet her grinding down and they repeat this rhythm again and again. 

“-ff...take ‘em off, Joel…” 

Ellie’s speaking around his mouth, breathless and bothered, the thirst for him replacing all of her worthless inhibitions. There is no reason to stop, no hesitation, no reticence or remaining doubt. There is this man, his heart and all the love in her that she’s yet to share but despairingly longs to. 

He grunts a low and inaudible noise then breaks away and laughs, “Mmph, what, ya wanna make one’a those babies right now?” 

_’Babies. He’s been saying babies this whole time. Plural.’_

She smiles and dips her eyes, noting the not-so-subtle tempering of their passion, “Well, I mean...I’d like to have a bit of fucking fun with you first. But…” 

He huffs, “Don’t believe for a single second that pun got by me, Red.” 

“Oh, I know. You’re the Pun King of the West these days.” 

“Not a pun-ishin’ King, I hope?” 

Ellie giggles and turns a cheek into her pillow, “Damn, see. I can’t compete. And you’re maybe just a little punishing...” 

Joel’s eyebrows raise a measure at that, “That so? Somethin’ ya like?”

She nips at his neck, quick and rabbity, before adopting his accent and, “I reckon.” 

“Oh now c’mon. Don’t be usin’ Texas to get into my pants, woman, I’m tryin’ here.” 

“I’ll use whatever it takes, thank you very much. And why are you trying to stop… _again_?” 

He grins at that, at the exasperation that’s both real and not before, “We got places to be soon, darlin’. Shouldn’t be rushin’ this.” 

Ellie grumbles and rolls her eyes. 

Joel snorts at her puckish dismay and traces the scar near her right eye; kissing the tip of her nose, “You’re real pretty, ya know that?” 

There’s a flush rising on her skin, plentiful enough that even in the dim ambiance of morning he can see it painting its way across her light tone. Makes her prettier somehow. 

“Pretty convincing, I hope.” 

“You’re gonna kill me, ain'tcha?” 

As Ellie makes to reply, the shrill _beep-beep, beep-beep_ of the alarm clock begins its harrowing pitch. It’s sirening in their general vicinity but it’s much too far for either of them to remain as they are _and_ dismantle the irksome object. 

“I might not kill you but I am gonna kill that fucking thing, that’s for damn sure.” 

The man grins as he rolls from Ellie, putting his front to her rear; throwing out an arm, he feins smashing the switch for her benefit but effectively ceases the unwelcome wailing with a much gentler act. 

When he returns, he grabs a hip and pulls her against him – he’s stone-hard and wants her to know. He might not want to take it to that next step just yet but he does want to stretch the morning for all it’s worth before church. Before God Himself makes him feel bad about not wanting to be there in the first place. At least today he doesn’t. 

She wiggles and draws circles against him, teasing and testing the man, “Ahh, I see. You just wanted my butt against you, didn’t ya?” 

“All’a these evil plans bein’ found out. Nothin’ gets by ya, does it?” 

She breathes and settles in his embrace, running her nails against the ample hair and hard muscle of the forearms that are wrapping around her. 

“Nope. But I’ve always known about your affinity for peaches.” 

He laughs at that, and it’s a loud and lengthy laugh, his tight belly bouncing against her bare spine, “Well, I reckon we ain’t got no more secrets then, huh?” 

Ellie shimmies in his arms, twisting around so that she can properly see him, “Not anymore, no. Which...I–I’m glad you’re not mad at me, Joel. I wasn’t sure how you would react to all that, clearly. But...if it’s alright, I don’t want to rush to the maternity ward just yet. I know I joked earlier about just wanting to fuck around with you first and I do, fuck I do, but I’m...” 

“You’re still scared ‘bout the rest. I understand. I’ll do my part to keep ya safe, El.” 

She kisses the undercarriage of his throat, reveling in the way his Adam’s Apple bobbles above her and, “You always have, Joel.” 

“An’ I always will. You an’ this perky ass’a yours.” He closes by spanking one of her round globes, squeezing the malleable flesh and smoothing it after. He replicates this process a few times and buries his face into the bend at her neck, “Mmm, hell, girl. I ain’t gonna be right at service today.” 

On the last smack, she yelps and grips at the base of his hairline, digging her fingers into his soft bed head there, “Gonna be hard the whole time again, thinking of what you’ll be doing to me...and my ass...after dinner tonight?” 

“Again? I ain’t stopped bein’ hard since wakin’ ya.” 

“Good. I’ll be dripping in my jeans right beside you.” 

“You’re a wicked, wily thing, ain’tcha?” 

Ellie lays her lips to an unknown scar near his heart and sedately pulls away from him, peeking over his shoulder to note the time, “Which, we have to get going if we want actual seats this week. Seats I think one of us will need more than the other.” 

A grumble, a growl, a low frequency howl before, “Uhhh.” 

“C’mon, big man. You’re the one that keeps stopping this. But to be fair, you and I both know someone’s bound to knock on the door and ruin the mood anyway. Dina or Tommy or Maria or maybe someone else with another ugly fucking wreath.” 

“Oh, I doubt that one’ll be stoppin’ by anytime soon.” 

“Really? Why?” 

“Mmhm. Told her I ain’t interested.” 

Ellie’s features crack with a wide grin as she pushes Joel horizontal and slides over top to straddle him. The covers are all but gone, languishing somewhere near the man’s calves but it’s no matter now. She loves having him see her bare and exposed, loves the way his eyes can’t seem to focus on a single area or part of her but rather _all_ of her. 

“Because of me?” 

“Absolutely, Red. Told her you an’ me was gettin’ hitched next week, too. Or wait, maybe that was Tommy? Either way, Beth’s not an issue anymore. Tommy might be though. Oops.” 

The girl’s jaw drops away from the rest of her face as each of her hands fall onto his chest, “I–wait, did you really?” 

He paws at her ass again, gaining fistfuls of Ellie and moving those lithe hips hard and slow against him, grinding their centers together just as they were before. He bites his lip, snapping up once, twice, before, “An’ if I did?” 

Ellie’s lost. 

“Mmph...well...oh...fuck. But I-uh, regret to inform you that we’re never leaving this fffucking bed. And I will get these...mmm...get these off you without a-another word of protest, Mr. Mmmiller. If that’s what you said...'' She yanks and lets the band of his underwear slap to his tight belly to add emphasis to this promise, to this threat of hers. He raises at that and slides the girl methodically, expertly against his length – angling her down and forward so he can hit that explosive bulb of hers. 

He wants to watch and hear her come, wants to fuck her and be fucked _by_ her. Feel and fill her insides until she’s leaking of him. Then fuck her again. 

Church can wait. 

But the best laid plans… 

The blaring of the clock resumes, unwilling to be undone by those who ask of it one thing and one thing only. Its noise is sharp and piercing, signaling to the pair that they have officially and definitively bled the last minutes of their time dry. 

Ellie groans as she eases part way off of Joel and grabs the plastic box with all the fury of a destructive maelstrom coming in quick – she means to wreak utter chaos and be done with it. He’s seen that look in her eye many, many times. 

The man laughs as he watches her grip and compress the cheap thing but retrieves it from her hands at the last possible nanosecond. He toggles the switch, absentmindedly resetting it for tomorrow and tosses it to the other end of the bed. 

“Shouldn’t bust it up, much as we’d like to.” 

“Fuck that thing.” 

“Well, we runnin’ a risk, girl, not the clock. So, how’s ‘bout we get our sinner selves to the church on time, yeah?” 

Begrudgingly, Ellie acquiesces but not without stipulations, “Alright, but if we have to stand the entire time, I’m standing directly in front of you.” 

“Wouldn’t want it any other way.” 

“And if Beth asks you to go to her house again, you’re not allowed to yell at me when I punch her in the throat. With my switchblade.” 

Joel laughs as he swings his limbs to an edge and hoists himself out of the bed, “I wouldn’t recommend it on hallowed ground but I promise not to yell.” 

“Deal.”

††††

It’s early afternoon and Joel is alone, whittling away the hours in the melodic confines of his woodcrafting room. The cassette tape chosen for today is a mix of Christmas classics with an odd country number thrown in just because. He’s nurturing the mood as best he’s able, given the nature of his most recent thoughts – but it’s cold outside and warm in here and there’s plenty of time to kill before meal prep needs to start.

He thinks of Ellie, curls his lip and can’t stifle a grin. 

During a brief brunch at the Bison, she mentioned needing to go “do something private,” and for him to “shut up and stop being so nosy,” when the lines of questioning began. He suspects her private adventure is holiday-related but any chance she gets to openly tease him, it’s guaranteed the girl will not only seize the opportunity for all its worth but capitalize on it in equal measure. He loves that about her, always has, even when he falsely professed not to earlier on. Well, not immediately earlier on but not that far into their knowing one another to be exact. 

But in these neoteric days, that feigned snark and that bossy bite of hers rattles his cage something wild; the way he longed to lean across the table and kiss her as she playfully put him in his place was a battle he never believed he’d fight. As she accentuated each of her sassy remarks with brazen confidence and wicked notes only he can discern, Joel felt closer to giving in than ever before. Having to keep apart from her and that scrunchy, button nose was a feat akin to summiting Everest.

But oh, her eyes. Those jade irises reflected a roaring inferno all throughout their brunch; both studious and piercing, she was not only looking at but through him. There were more than a few moments that the man needed to even his breath and turn to casually adjust himself as he sat and took it all in stride. She smiled at that, knowing precisely what she was doing to him. 

He said he was happy to make her happy. She smiled at that, too. 

But lamentably for them, there were far too many folks at the establishment and having to explain it all with a looming Mandate was not something Joel had the energy for. After suffering a blue-balled morning _and_ a blue-balled church service – Ellie ended up in front of him the entire time, much to her delight and his heart’s pumping attestations – the man was feeling a bit more drained than typical for this time of day.

He’s not complaining as it’s all worth it of course. 

Following breakfast, he and Ellie parted ways at the Bison’s double doors (she managed to sneak a quick pinch to his ass, too), he made swift work of the journey home and summarily put himself to adequate use. It was a welcome opportunity to finish, box and wrap the last gift – of three – that he plans on giving her next Friday. 

All this despite the unnerving impulse to find out what the hell she walked off towards the opposite end of town for; the only thing he can think of that’s there is Jackson’s rear exit and Tower Station 8. Was Ellie going somewhere? Perhaps a few weeks ago she wouldn’t bother sharing details like that but surely she would now, yes? 

The only comforting aspect of it all is that Dina is with her. Although that brings to mind a few questions in and of itself; the man can’t help but wonder on whether or not Ellie’s spoken to her good friend about...things and if so, how that girl might factor and feel in all of this newfound glory of theirs. 

But that’s an inquisition he’ll stow for another time. For now, he’s in the house and enjoying one of his favorite pastimes – and creating something for his most favorite person. A Sunday Sundaying if ever there was one. 

As he sits and polishes the short horns on the Christmas gift for Ellie – it’s in its last stage of completion – Joel pushes beyond her swift exodus from earlier and onto the whirlwind of their intimate events this morning. He thinks of her and their conversations – thinks of his own declarations, too – as he shines the handmade object; marking the subtle gradations of color as he turns, flips and twists the thing beneath the bench light, Joel hopes the girl will savor all the minute details. It’s simple, pretty and meaningful. To them, yes, but to her especially. 

Connective tissue of their history but pertinent for a future that appears more and more likely to be as the days roll on. 

_”She wants me. Wants a family. Wants me to give her...babies. An’ to be her family.”_

Thoughts of Sarah cycle in the wake of this collateral musing, though it’s hardly the first time she’s come to mind in the barrage of all this _new_. With drifting tides churning and channeling his choppy waters so intensely as of late, he knows it’s bound to happen. Not only that but likely far more frequently as a direct result. 

Joel misses his daughter. This is neither novel nor a secret. It’s not something he announces or confesses all that often but it is part of his everyday life. Loss and grief live alongside the rest. Well, these days they do, at least. 

Cracking his neck, he sets the carving onto the table and clears his throat with a rumbling grunt. It’s easier nowadays to remember that beautiful girl, but never so easy as to feel _ease_ about it. She’s not here and that’s an ache that has no name and no end. 

Joel goes farther and tugs on a thread from _before_ , knowing better but ignoring his judgement just the same. He’s sorting through the inventory of those revelations at dawn, cognizant of the fact that this is a part of the process he needs to see himself through.

Fatherhood. 

He never wanted to be a father again – well, no, that’s not it exactly. He’s been a father since he was sixteen years old and will never quit that role, not in the way it truly counts. 

Still, the loss of his only child was a terminal diagnosis for Joel – almost literally one night – until he systematically buried his soul beside his daughter’s and put that world in his rear view. From there he pushed on, running farther and harder than his legs could physically withstand...and then kept going. It was a punishing, crushing ruthlessness that was challenged only by his inner demons – no other could reach him. Not that pretty blond who was so hung up on him once upon a time, not Tommy either. 

Not even Tess. Although she had managed to get closer than he wanted or even realized. But that partnership was rooted in necessity and more carnal than anything emotional. 

Irrespective of the few who tried through the decades, it was only the faceless, nameless devils that managed to slink through his fissures – unchained, unburdened and uncaring to his extensive defense mechanisms. These infrequent parasites that would infect and poison his onerous resolve; on the rare occasion that such a breach to his fortified palisades would occur, Joel would...flounder. He’d drink, fuck, drink some more, load his six-shooter with a singular round and spin the barrel. 

Joel would knowingly put himself at risk during these periods of dangerously wayward behavior, tempting fate and the harsh unreality of existence without Her. 

It was isolation that proved to be the sole route of survival for the man he had been; Joel pointedly hadn’t lived beyond his recognition of that, didn’t want or need to. Just moved from one day to the next, sometimes from hour to hour. He fought death, life and all the bitter nuance that lies between those competing halves. Fought those bottomless hollows, the endless chasms where all those hellish bouts of weakness and ineptitude would strike from below. 

He did this through years of gritted teeth and clenched hands – it hardened his soul to an extent even he hadn’t realized. But the man remained unflinching in his determination to never again bring a child of his own into this world, never to love or allow himself to be loved either. And certainly never _fall_ in love. 

Until Ellie. 

Some of that changed after months traveling by her side, others far more recently. 

_Others_ being the fact that he’s shatteringly in love with her and there’s a very real, visceral desire to be a...dad all over again. 

That girl tore through his barricades one by one, turning his world upside down and inside out five years ago. Their story floundered along the way – just as he once did – but then two weeks ago everything metamorphosed. She crashed into his arms from a guttural fear and a potential loss so great that it upended and suspended all that had been prior to now. 

Nothing is so clear as the love he holds for her and that which she gives to him in return. 

_“Babies. A real family.”_

It sounds good spoken aloud but feels even better residing in his heart. This is what he wants – what he knows he’s capable of giving – and now he knows she wants the same, too. Where they lead from here is anyone’s guess, but at least he knows they will indeed be _going_ together. 

It’s safe to assume and surmise that there will be hiccups and roadblocks along the way; theirs isn’t a typical pairing and the town and those closest may present issues, but there’s nothing they haven’t overcome. 

_”The age thing. Time ain’t cheap.”_

If he’s to bleed that thought-vein, Ellie seems certain that she doesn’t want to rush, that having a big family can and will hopefully arrive but not immediately. Joel understands – thinks maybe when the time is right and more folks are brought into the fold, they might schedule a meeting with the town physician. That perhaps an informed medical professional could dissuade the consternation she harbors in regards to her immunity and overall health. 

Joel isn’t sure where on that spectrum he’s at just yet though. Whether he wants to race to the finish line each time in the hopes of starting this life they’re talking towards _or_ taking it a beat at time. Falling in love, getting to know one another in that couple-sense versus all the others they’re plentifully versed in by now.

His years swing back into focus at those wavering, indecisive threads – Joel’s not a young man anymore. He’s not old either but he doesn’t want to have a child or two and have death forfeit his life card too soon; abandoning his children, or his girl, far quicker than he would have otherwise is an implausibly large pill to swallow. 

It's true that his hesitation insofar as desire and longing have gone but on the other end of that lies the rub: There’s no way to unlive the last three decades or halt the clock and keep it from ticking on. Irrefutable facts are universally known as being some of the most difficult to contend with and this is no exception to that rule. 

Joel grimaces as he uses a dustpan and brush to clean the last fraying bits of chipped wood and colorful sawdust from his work table. The gift is done. 

His mood, too. Mulling on his fifty-plus years and what that might mean for the life they could or will have together is not an altogether pleasant experience. So he shakes loose of its chilled grasp and focuses instead on the present. Literally. 

As he rises and treks to the other workbench – the full length of which he employs whenever he crafts a guitar – the man cradles the object and runs his calloused fingers across it. The surface is slippery-smooth, its top layer painted and expertly polished with a glossy lacquer that enhances the vibrant, arid tones of the thing. 

_”Shoulda made two, huh. I’ll wait on that second. For now.”_

He rests the gift carefully onto the bench and bends to retrieve a small wooden box from one of the storage cubby’s below deck. He removes the stained cloth that’s laying atop the opening and peeks inside, smiling in kind – the other gifts are in there and waiting to be tended to. 

Joel doesn’t have all the proper material for what was once considered an aesthetically pleasing display of gifts between folk, but it’s no matter. He found just enough linen – unsoiled at that – and a spool of twine to make do. He’ll add flourishes just as he always does, perhaps incorporating pine needles this year, but beyond that, the days of scotch tape and an endless row of cellophane-wrapped decorative rolls of paper are long gone. 

He makes slow, methodical work of this, his attentiveness pouring out into the menial but meaningful task and nothing outside of it. Joel’s humming as he goes and he startles when he realizes he’s quietly singing the words to _Future Days_. 

Their song. 

Clearing his throat, he wipes his forehead with the back of an arm and peers around the empty room, recalling that first night he sang and played the tune to her. 

In the converted garage – that tiny living space Ellie requested to institute some distance once they settled in Jackson – he sat and gave her the performance she asked for in Colorado. Those early days apart after being one another’s constant for nearly a year was...discomfiting. It saddened him then but he feels now, particularly now, that it was for the best. 

Lord only knows where she might have ended up after their falling out in Salt Lake two years prior. If she had been living with him, Ellie could have very well left the block altogether in a hasty effort to get away from him. It’s too crushing a thought. 

_”Don’t need’a think on that. Didn’t happen. She’s here now. We’re doin’ this.”_

As he mumbles the last of the lyrics and ties off a final strand of twine, he grins and rubs his hands together – he’s happy with it. Happy that there’s only five more days until Christmas, too.

After appreciating his presentation, Joel stows the box into that same cubby and lays a torn cloth haphazardly across its top; if she somehow catches sight of it, she won’t think anything of a dingy-looking rag. Not that she’s ever been one to snoop or shake but just in case. 

The man clicks his tongue after, snaps a finger and makes towards the exit; it’s nearly three but he has roughly an hour to burn before the kitchen and pork chops beckon. 

Once in the hallway, he cuts a sharp right and ambles into the bedroom. 

A bubble of levity rises and slips at the image of it all: The blankets are a chaotic mess, all rustled and tousled and forgotten from this morning’s...touching session. His pillow is wasting away on the floor while hers is in the center of the mattress. Thankfully however, their Hoedown attire is, for the most part, still neat and folded on the hope chest. Well, most of it anyway.

He chuffs, wondering what might become of the clothes he’s currently wearing after his brother and sister-in-law leave later tonight. That girl. 

Joel yawns and scratches the rear of his head – he’s excited and intrigued but there’s a measure of fatigue underlying these all the same. 

_”These early mornin’s an’ late nights are catchin’ up, ya old bastard.”_

With an hour available to him, the man aims to steal a snooze...just in case.

††††

“Well, look’a that. She’s already here...” Tommy bumps an elbow into Ellie and tosses her a lighthearted wink as he and Maria walk towards the dining room.

“Oh, ha ha. Didn’t need a nap today so there was no excuse to keep everyone waiting. But all of a sudden I find myself regretting the choices I’ve made.” The girl feigns a snarl with the lift of a lip and an exuberant bounce of her head as she laughs a hearty spell. 

“Ahh, we all got regrets, ain’t nothin’ novel. It’s just good for us that Joel didn’t need’a hunt ya down, riskin’ the livelihood of the food. Again.” 

Ellie plants the final place setting and animatedly spins her greens, “Never gonna let it go, huh?” 

“Not for a bit, no ma’am.” 

Maria snorts at that last, an incredulous noise full of amusement and partial disbelief, “‘Ma’am?’ Girl is nineteen years old, practically a toddler still. What’re you doing calling her ‘ma’am.’ You’re not that much of a gentleman, Tommy Miller, knock it off.” 

Joel enters from the kitchen, balancing a serving tray with one hand and a pair of brews for him and his brother in the other, “Knock off what now?” 

“Oh, just that Tommy thinks I’m an old hag and his Mrs. vehemently disagrees. What was it you called me again, Maria?” 

“A toddler! Won’t hear anymore of that ‘ma’am’ nonsense. But it’s probably just misdirected annoyance at my dear husband for making his wife feel old.” Maria pretends to shudder as she eases beside the spouse caught in the cross-hairs. 

Tommy kisses her cheek and sighs, “You’re too beautiful to let a rodeo clown like me bring ya down, darlin’.” 

“Uh huh. And you’re too clever a cowboy to be a clown.” 

As the impact of that utterance sinks in his gut, Joel swallows the unease and lists forward, putting the entree into the core of the spread. After, he pinches his cupid’s bow and scratches it as the conversation continues to loop unimpededly. 

Somewhere in the midst of this internal sentence dissection, he passes a bottle to Tommy and grumbles; Maria’s opinion has him feeling...odd. Despite this, he remains hushedly complacent, knowing any type of outward fuss might dredge too close to their secretive shores. 

He’s intentionally opting to ignore the distasteful rise of sordid emotion, instead looking to Ellie and, “Girl, if you’re an old hag then I reckon I’m a g’damn skeleton.” 

Maria chortles but the girl nearest to him does not laugh. Her eyes dim and cloud over, their appearance mirroring the gloomy depths of an ocean that has not felt the sun’s warmth in a millennia. The darkness pooling there is unsettling at first, but it doesn’t lurk; she shifts lightning-fast but Joel does not miss the ebb of her discontent as it fades for now. Just as he’s done. 

On the other end of the expanse, Tommy notes the swell of tensity that’s bubbling amongst his family but sees it as a welcome opportunity to deflect. Leveraging his bulk and leaning forward, he clinks the belly of his drink to Joel’s and tilts his head in appreciation, “Cheers, big brother. Smells delightful. An’ yeah, enough of this toddler shit. Ellie’s a damn adult. But to be fair to her feelin’s an’ my brother’s bones...she ain’t in ma’am territory yet. My apologies.” 

Ellie lends a placating half-smile as she hoists her tumbler high to meet his, “Much obliged. Now can we please eat? I walked all over this cursed world today and I’m starving.” 

Joel piques at that and looks through his peripheral in the hopes of catching her eye. No go. She’s purposefully dismissing his inquisitive glance while burning holes into an empty chair across the table. 

_’Ya sneaky girl.’_

Joel’s never liked when she’s gone outside the gates of Jackson without him, but that’s a leftover from their time on America’s most dangerous roads. Hard habits and all that.

Beneath the curtain of the wooden shroud, he presses his thigh to hers; he doesn’t want to elicit obvious tells or earn any heady reactions but if she could show or mumble _something_ , it would calm his tattering nerves. 

“You and Dina were gone for a while today! Were you able to track down what you were looking for?” Maria poses the vague inquiry as she carves into a juicy portion of pork. 

Ellie fills her mouth with a sizable swig of bourbon before, “Mmhm, yep, I sure did. Thankfully. Course it took us all over God’s country. But it was a good time with her. Found a few odds and ends, too. Successful looting, I’d say.” 

Joel turns and bevels in his seat, “No trouble or anythin’?” 

Ellie shakes with a definitive ‘no,’ but still doesn’t look at him. It’s maddening. She’s poking his protective buttons and the girl knows it. 

Tommy sneaks a keek past the leaf; he’s not hunting for specifics, not really, but after the scene at the dance and all the mirthful banter as of late, he’s finding it difficult not to look for the subtle nuances, either. Something to reinforce that what transpired last night was neither a fluke nor an unintentional happenstance. 

Not the “oops my tongue ended up down your throat,” kind of happenstance. 

But the nature of it can’t be of those variances; he’s been wondering about Joel and Ellie for the better part of a week now, so it’s safe to presume that the witnessed kiss was not their first time. Add to that the fact that the duo were far from the realm of inebriation; sure they enjoyed a few libations but barely enough to kick the sober keg with any significant form of brute force. 

All of which calls other lines of analysis to the forefront – but those he feels less amiable to contemplate on at present. Luckily his wife is there to detract from his prying observance. 

“So what’d everyone think of this year's Hoedown? See anything particularly fun, noteworthy or interesting?”

Well, her distraction was a pleasant respite while it lasted. 

At his wife’s innocent question, Tommy doubles forward part way as he fights to retain a sip of beer in his mouth; errant droplets of amber run down his bearded chin, but he’s quick to clean himself and assuage the situation as best he’s able. Quick to try and pretend it all away. 

Not quick enough. 

The other three are staring in unison, brows furrowing but expressions light and anticipatory for the most part – all signs of their confusion but with a request for further explanation. 

Joel’s first, “Ya alright, Tom?” 

The younger Miller sniffs and slaps his chest, “Damn, must’a choked or drank too fast, pardon me, folks.”

Maria pats her partner’s leg and, “Brew that good this week? Or that bad?” 

“Mmm, it’s fine. All good here. Anyway, outside’a Seth an’ Beth leavin’ together, which – what in the hell – I’d say it was a pretty decent night.”

His wife shrugs but rolls her eyes in vexation, “Both of you boys are mean to that woman. No wonder she’s shacking up with Seth. Oh, and by the way, Joel, I heard the news.”

Joel raises to meet her gaze and swallows a bite of his mashed cauliflower, “Heard what?” 

“Tommy said you set the record straight with Beth. That you’re not interested. I get that and for her sake I’m glad you’re not the type to mince or drag things out. She was pretty drunk so she must have really liked you. Oh well.” She finishes and glares at her brother-in-law for a spell, noting the tension in his neck as he chews and mulls on her comments as a whole. 

“Mmhm. Just ain’t for me.” 

Maria slurps from her glass and bumps into Tommy’s shoulder, “But there is _someone_ , if my husband’s not so subtle hints are to be believed.” 

Ellie and Joel peer beyond the spread at that last remark; surrendering to the charged silence, their eyes focus solely onto Maria and Maria alone. Even Tommy ceases eating the bit of his dinner that’s _in_ his mouth, “What’s that now? What’d I do?” 

“Oh, nothing, but you certainly made it sound like your brother has his eye on someone in town. Care to give us any hints, Joel? Was she at the Hoedown?” 

Joel retrieves and promptly swigs a proper pull from the brown bottle, swirling the liquid before it washes down his throat, “Uh, wel-”

“Now c’mon, I said no such thing, Em. Just that Joel wasn’t interested in Beth. Nothin’ else. Ya like rilin’ up the gossip at these dinners, don’tcha?” 

Maria tilts her head and smiles impishly, “It’s just a nice break from work and all the shit that needs to get done before the first week of January. Didn’t mean any harm. Again.” 

“Fair ‘nough.” 

Ellie, usually the first to polish her plate with any and every meal, rises and, “Gonna go start the dishes. Maybe we can play a card game after? It’s still pretty early…” 

“Actually, how’s ‘bout we skip the clean up an’ go right to the game? Dishes can wait.”

The girl with the Gulf’s ocean-green swirling in her eyes turns to the man at her side and titters, “Breaking protocol? Joel Miller, doth my ears deceive me?” 

Everyone laughs at that but it’s Maria – walking some of their used dinnerware into the kitchen – who adds to Ellie’s elation with, “See, now we definitely know something is going on in your life. This woman must be special for you to be happy with us _and_ so guarded about her, huh?” 

Joel’s flits from Maria towards the petite girl leaning over the sink – or rather stalling by the sink; it’s a quick and cursory movement, hardly noticeable, but it affirms this instinctual need and the wealth of emotions he has for Ellie. 

“Would ya leave him be, woman, sheesh.” Tommy waits for his wife to trek ahead of him as he stacks soiled plates and stray utensils together, all the while peeping through his lashes at Joel. 

Maria supplicates, purses her lips and laughs, “Alright, alright. So what’re we playing? Poker? Rummy? Crazy Eights?” 

As Maria exits after positing her options, Ellie bounds into the dining room and halfheartedly, albeit deliberately, bumps into Joel; she smiles up at him and juts her jaw outwards, “I was thinking that an old-fashioned Slapjack tournament might be fun. See how fast our smack reflexes are while fighting for bragging rights.” 

Joel sucks his teeth as he gazes down at the girl, envisioning the spanks he issued onto that ample ass of hers earlier in the day; he suspects that’s exactly why she’s angling to play this particular game and his cock twitches in his jeans as a direct result.

“Ya goin’ down, Red.” 

“We’ll see who goes down first, Joel.” 

He tosses her wink but notes the impending presence of his brother and sister-in-law as they swing back into the fold; Joel moves and steps around Ellie, making swift work of his walk and quick work of his thoughts. He suspends by the countertop, placing the last of their dinner and drinkware into the bubbly water of the basin; he’s making to still the fervor that’s doing its damnedest to provoke him – a provocation in the good way but it’s not the most ideal time for it. 

Joel grips firm to the edge and squeezes, his knuckles bleaching as his skin is pulled taut; he wants her. Wants her so badly and wants his family to know; there’s the wish or perhaps a blind hope that they’ll accept it but he doubts it’ll be that simple. Musing beyond that, he wants it all without a single bone of contention from the town, too. 

But there’s a turbidity to these wholesome, natural longings that’s griming his insides – it’s of a seedy and troublesome complexity and one he feels wildly inept at handling. There’s a diffused warning of caution that’s growling low and is disturbingly out of sync, like a hollow drumming in his canals, the sound foreboding but indecipherable. 

In the end, Joel senses that the revelation of his and Ellie’s relationship likely won’t be as painless a process as they intend for it to be. Or would be. If it were anyone else… 

“Hey, you good?” 

She’s by his side – he didn’t hear her enter – with a hand holding onto his forearm; his muscles feel ferric and dangerously tight – Ellie knows something is on his mind but it’s not without significant solemnity. 

“Huh? Oh, yup. I’m good. Just thinkin’.” He releases his hostage – the counter – and angles to her, “Ready to get your smack on?” 

Ellie pitches inwards, presses a deck of cards to his chest and pantomimes a kiss, “Thought you’d never ask.” 

After, she twists away and tosses a glance over her shoulder as she cuts a path to the living room; Joel’s hazels travel to those round, perky cheeks and his empty fist curls and unfurls as he watches her go. She glimpses the instantaneously innate response and loves it. Loves how longed-for he makes her feel.

Once she rounds the corner and disappears, Joel hears jovial echoes from the opposite direction of the house. He hangs there another second or so before he reaches into his jeans and repositions his swelling dick between his belt and belly. Joel sighs as a chill tears through him at the minimal contact – he needs to orgasm or this won’t quit any time soon. 

Thinks of stealing upstairs to the bathroom for a few but reasons he’s not that desperate. Not yet anyway. 

_’Christ, alive...I’m outta control.’_

††††

“Okay, lightning round. Me versus Tommy, Maria versus Joel. Whoever wins this competes for seven days of bragging rights, deal?”

All parties nod in mutual agreement. The stakes are set and they are as high as they’ve ever been. Ellie rolls her shoulders, cracks her neck and Joel laughs, “Look’a this one over here, gettin’ ready to rumble.” 

Tommy laughs, “Oh, I reckon so.” 

Ellie lines her sight with the younger sibling and misaligns her jaw, “No pulling punches, cowboy. Give it your best or we’ll ban you.” She rubs her hands together, shakes them out and prepares her proverbial weapons of mass destruction. 

Tommy smirks, “Miller’s don’t pull anythin’. Figured you of all people would’a known that by now, girl.” He lists to his left as a knowing glance strikes across the plain of his cheery features. His emphasis is there but ironically, he’s holding back his verbiage all the same. 

Ellie chortles but the utterance is tentative and partially unsure of itself and what he might mean, “Joel certainly does not pull or hold back from anything, you’re right about that.” 

Joel peeks at hearing his name spoken but is redirected by Maria just as fast, “Alright big guy, you and me. Playoffs.” 

“Who says go?” 

“I can say go.” 

“Someone say go.” 

“Alright, GO!” 

Ellie and Tommy start flipping their cards over – one down atop the other – as Joel and Maria mirror their actions. It’s a cacophony of slapping cardstock and chaotic movement but everyone is smiling and reveling in the uncomplicated nature of the game. 

Tommy is first to flip and thus slap a Jack and it startles the girl a spell before he swipes his winnings and they continue on. “Lucky move, but you’re not gonna net the next.” 

“Big talk from such’a small girl.” 

“Watch it now, Tommy, she’ll boot ya right in the ass, that one.” 

Ellie shrugs and peers diagonally to Joel, willingly sacrificing the growing compilation of cards to just...see him, “I’m gonna boot you right in the ass if you make me lose, Joel!” 

“Then stop lookin’ at me an’ get back to task.” 

She giggles and scrunches her nose at him – _and he loves it_ – before refocusing on her opponent. Ellie squares her shoulders and squints her greens, “Time to kick this bitch in gear.” 

Tommy’s eyes go wide for a tick as a bubble of laughter bursts through his parted mouth, “An’ what might that mean, you losin’ faster?” 

“All talk, Tommy. You’re all talk.” 

The battle wages on but it comes to a brief and swift conclusion: The rounds finish with the final two competitors having been selected.

Tommy has lost.  
Maria did, too. 

As Joel and Ellie switch their seating and come face to face with each other on opposite ends of the coffee table, the other Miller’s situate for this last and final showdown of the night. 

“Take him down, Ellie. Ruin him,” Tommy goats, pushing his brother by the shoulder and earning himself quite the lethal look in return. 

“Who’s side’a ya on, brother?” 

Maria and Tommy laugh as a cohesive unit before, “Hers.” 

Joel snorts and sighs, “Should’a known. Turncoats. Alright, darlin’, give me all ya got.” 

Ellie leans across the divide and sets her face near his; she tugs at the collar of his plaid long sleeve and effectively leverages him closer, “Oh, I’ll give you all I got, Joel. But can you _handle_ it?” 

Tommy sinks comfortably against the couch cushion as the scene develops, curling his lip as an array of emotion swells behind the marrow of his breastbone; most of these feelings he’s unable to accurately coin at present but there is one that resonates above the rest: Happiness. He’s plenty happy for his brother. 

He doesn’t risk a glance at his wife though. Not yet. 

Joel smirks, peeps lower on himself where she’s still attached and, “Think it was my turncoat kin who said, an’ I quote, ‘big talk for such’a small girl.’” 

Ellie’s heels push half-spheres into her rear before she raises to her knees and rests each elbow atop the rustic plane, “And I think it was this big man I know who once said, and I quote, ‘less talkin’, more walkin’. Walking being...the cards in this scenario, or whatever, let’s just do this. I’m _ready_ for you.” 

Maria looks back and forth between Joel and Ellie and then to her spouse who’s sitting pretty on the sofa; there’s a twinge, a nagging sensation that’s tickling a far off recess in her mind. But she’s fatigued and wholly inept at visualizing what it is that’s set her slightly off center. It’s no matter for now. 

The game proceeds, the intensity increasing with each individual _flip-flip-flip_ from their collective heaps – it won’t be long until a winner is crowned and the fated and famous rematch will be scheduled for next week. They all know it. 

There’s a lively orchestra of hoots, hollers, empty threats and a whole swath of energy in and surrounding this tête-à-tête. The living space is festive and bright; the hypnotic twinkling of the decorative Christmas lights – from the tree in the corner and the front windows – are bathing the room in a crystalline glow. The fireplace does its part as well, warming their bones and filling their hearts by its welcoming hearth. 

The mood would be a peaceful one, if it wasn’t for the chosen game. Alas. 

Ellie sucks on her bottom lip as her once laser-sharp focus is starting to wane – she knows whomever thumbs the next Jack will be the victor and take it all. And, yes, she does hope to win but she also, and more imperatively, _needs_ to see Joel smack that sizable hand down good and hard. Wants to see it _and_ hear it. 

She shivers at the mere idea of this and tries to appease herself by bringing her thighs closer together and rubbing ever-so; no one sees or discerns these private movements – they’re just for her. The girl’s performance is wearing her patience dreadfully thin. 

They’ve been drawing this out – going from slow to fast to slow again – thus amplifying her incredible ache tenfold. But it’s just like Joel to tease and extend a finale, milking it for all its worth. Still, Ellie is maintaining a fine veil as she works through the haze of her discreet lust all while managing to keep her head in the game. 

But finally, it happens. 

Joel releases the next card from his palm, lays it flat and not a second later slams his hand down onto the table. 

Ellie extends her torso and limbs outwards and immediately covers his hand with both of hers, wrapping her fingers under it and pulling on him slightly, “Oh, you fucker!” 

“An’ that’s how ya play Slapjack.” 

Tommy pats his brother on the back and Maria feigns a grimace as the small group celebrates the climax of this charade. 

“Three cheers for ya, brother. Was a fair win..” 

Joel bobs a beat as he masks his typical reserves with a taunting grin, aiming it at the girl he’s just bested. She matches Maria’s grim expression from a moment ago and spins her sage, “Got me this time, Joel. I’ll get you back. Don’t worry.” 

Maria, who’s been peculiarly quiet the last few minutes, stands and stretches, “Ready to go? I gotta be up early tomorrow and at the armory first thing. It’s Monday so the trade caravan will be arriving and I need to be there to meet the contact. Apparently he’s new. Manuel or Manny-something, can’t remember.” Her partner nods, clasps the pliable part of his wife’s thigh and raises, following her directive. 

Joel steals off to use the washroom as the pair readies themselves to leave, his thoughts not on the caravan but rather the girl promising to avenge her loss. He likes how feisty she can get. That fire is all-consuming and he is unafraid of its heat. 

As Tommy busies himself by the door, he slips a hand into the pocket of his coat and huffs, grasping the object that’s sitting at the base there. He’s just remembered the sweet offering he stowed before coming to Joel’s and knows now is likely the best time to give it. 

“Hey Ellie, got a minute?” He gestures to the kitchen, signaling that he wants her to trail behind him. 

“Um, sure...” 

Maria looks on quizzically as her husband and Ellie walk to the other end of the home in silence, she’s curious but figures it’s almost assuredly to do with the holidays. Tommy is notoriously sneaky when gifts and party planning is concerned. She’ll be nosy about it later...when he’s less inclined to refute her and far more naked. 

“What’s up?” Ellie loosely crosses her arms as she rests the curve of her back to the island’s marble edge. She’s not uncomfortable but with everything that’s taking place between her and Joel, she’s a measure more guarded than she might have been otherwise. Or before. 

“Had Rita bake’a batch, given how much you seem to like ‘em. How much Joel does, too. Figured y’all could share.” He produces a small bundle that’s linen-wrapped, twine-tied and logo-stamped, offering it to her, “Gingerbread.” 

Ellie beams in a moving sort of silence and scratches at the corner of her jaw, “Yeah, uh, wow. No, he really likes these. Me, too.”

Tommy nods, puckers his lips and levels his gaze to hers, “I’d wager that man loves ‘em.” He angles forward and double taps the bag, watching as the girl’s eyes shine glassy. “Anyway, Merry early Christmas. Ya remember what I said last week?” 

Ellie brings the bag to her heart and blows a breath or two in an effort to ease the disbelief of this unforgettable moment, “I do.” She knows what he’s saying, understands what he’s revealing here. 

“If ya ever need to talk. I mean that. Now lemme get goin’ before my wife takes off without me.” 

The girl snorts through the sting of unshed tears and bobs there a moment, vacillating on whether or not she wants to do what she’s inclining to do. She does. 

“Tommy?” 

“Mmh?” 

He spins on his booted heel and Ellie’s there, looping each of her arms to his neck. He receives and gives of the embrace just as freely, content for the moment; she knows _he_ knows something, and it’s enough. For now.

After the moment sees its natural closing, Ellie separates and takes a step apart, “Thank you, Tommy. Really.” 

“We’ll talk, like _talk_ more soon. An’ don’t tell him nothin’, yeah? Ya know how he can be, an’ so do I. Enjoy those for now.” He tosses a wink for added emphasis and back pedals towards the front exit. 

Ellie raises the sack and, “We will.” 

“Oh, I got no doubt ‘bout that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, THANK YOU! Thank you for the comments, the kudos, the subscriptions, the bookmarks – all the bells and wholesome whistles. I see it all, I feel it all and I am wonderfully **grateful** for and to you. Quick aside: I'd like to dedicate the alarm clock interruptions to Vipers and the floofy fluff to everyone else in the Disc. I adore you. I look forward to chatting everyday, to laughing until my weary face breaks but feels all the better for it. I hope to never get banned from my own story server. That would be a real bummer. I'll write faster next time, I promise. *wink* 
> 
> Note onto some _abridged_ notes:  
> • Flashback number 2! We're winding back again, this time to a part in the first game I've always wanted to explore. Thoughts on this? What did you think happened after Tommy returned home Joel and Ellie-less?  
> • Speaking of, those two (Joel and Ellie) should stay in bed together all damn day.  
> • THEY....ADMITTED....FEELINGS... Yay or nay?! Too soon!?  
> • Joel, oh baby, I adore you. Joel's past and all the years after Sarah is something my heart physically longs to tell – and so I am going to do just that. With the Amalie flashback in 12 and the UEC in 14 now, it's safe to say that these will be woven throughout more as the story of Joel and Ellie progresses. What are key moments from Part I that you would love to delve into?  
> • I do love a good, competitive game of Slapjack and now that Ellie lost, I have a suspicion that retribution might be of an intense sort for a Mr. Joel Miller. ;)  
> • Tommy is saying a whole lot with those cookies, isn't he? 
> 
> And that's **Chapter 14**! 
> 
> Thanks for hanging in with me – writing can be difficult at times and I'm a perfectionist (as much as I'm feasibly able to be, anyway). Would love to hear your thoughts on the road so far but until then, hope everyone is staying safe and sound! xx


	15. & Subservient Entities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Tommy and Maria leave, Ellie and Joel are left to their own devices...and with the unspoken affirmations from earlier, she's more than ready to test her limits – and his. After, there's a Monday morning shift with Dina and Ellie on tower duty, a caravan arrives and then the Christmas celebrations finally begin...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, as per my lovely Disc AND your amazing comments, I should stop apologizing for my delay in between chapter postings – _but I am still sorry this took 3+ weeks...please accept the 17k+ words as an offering_. 
> 
> All that to say, let's chat at the end, shall we? x
> 
>  **UPDATE** : Some of the copy didn't copy over on the first post – has been updated. Oof. Sorry, folks.

“Ellie? Hey, ya in here?” 

Joel rounds the bend and finds his girl holding a sack cloth to her chest, each of her ten digits kneading into the tan linen – she’s not gripping the thing with fervency but rather a delightful, private reverence. This or the contents within are important to her, whatever they may be. 

“What ya got there?” He gestures to the canvas casing while stepping directly in range of the girl. His movements appear tentative and slow but there’s intention to Joel’s gait just the same, a nuance that’s both discernible and revealing – he’s missed her. 

He’s been at an arm's length for a while now and the physical traction from the wake of it all is apparent from tip to toe; Joel’s been longing to touch Ellie and share in the ease of intimacy that they’ve so seamlessly found with one another – yet he doesn’t want to loosen Ellie from a reverie he’s unintentionally stumbling upon either. This _feels_ like a moment he shouldn’t interrupt, no matter the pleasantries of it all. 

At last, she raises at the question and squeezes the bundle of Gingerbread tighter; his subtle display of vulnerability rains into their drought-stricken fissures like long sought after relief. She’s feeble to stave a nose-scrunchy smile and a soulful exhale; Ellie’s bliss radiates for him and him only – her face a soft portrait, her body an orchestra amidst the symphony of silence all around. 

There’s bounty and abundance capering the pale-speckled plains of her studious features – she’s anticipatory and expectant – and so goddamn pretty his chest is tightening at the visage of the girl that’s standing before him. 

A hollow pause fills the tensive charge that’s building between and all around them; Ellie uses it to steal another second or two before, “It’s a gift from your brother.”

“Oh?”

“Mmhm.”

“He’s a little early.”

“I think Tommy’s right on time, actually.” 

“Oh?” 

“Mmhm.”

He smirks at their mirroring but drops his gaze after in a contemplative self-collection of sorts; Joel hooks a thumb into the soft underside of his beloved leather belt and shifts his stance, driving the majority of his weight onto a booted heel. He bounces his thigh once, twice and, “Am I allowed’a know what he’s gifted my girl?”

 _’My girl. His. I’m his.’_

The young woman’s head lists at that last, her heart thundering beneath the ravaging undertow of emotion she holds for this man. Emotions that are cascading and compounding in an effort to dismantle her dams and flood Ellie’s spillways daily; the girl’s oceans are expanding, cresting onward and outward towards a varigating horizon where endless possibilities await. 

She’s racing into the unknown at a fever pitch, her instinct guiding the journey with reckless abandon; her body is unequivocally willing and wanting – it’s recognizing the immersive effects of such global alterations as they reconstruct her foundations within. She greets these changes wholeheartedly. 

Still, this shift is not limited to an otherworldly sense, no. The colors casting onto this new kingdom are far more vibrant and true, its hues exuding warmth and safety – lust and love. The multitudes within are gaining in other plentiful ways as well but it’s Ellie’s cavernous abyss that’s revealing the greatest transfiguration – her trenches are filling. 

He’s filling her. 

“Later. But for now…”

Ellie lays the present onto the island and inhales as she coasts her touch to the textured fabric – she’s stealing her nerves, stilling the inexperienced furor that’s threatening to expose itself as the seconds bore on. It aids in the act of calming herself, steadfastly redirecting her focus from the inside out.

Because she’s been ruminating on _an idea_ all evening, shrouding the needful pangs for it and her impatience as best she was able, despite the restrictive situation they were in. But now that Maria and Tommy are no longer in their company, Ellie grabs the helm of this ship with purposeful design; the girl is covetous and possesses just enough wherewithal to explore the extents of this new challenge. 

“For now what?” 

Ellie gulps and reaches for him, twining her digits with his and rubbing the hardened skin that greets; she’s reacquainting herself to Joel painstakingly slow – reacquainting each of them to the passionate cavalcade that’s been quieted for most of the day. Eventually she faintly tugs and thus pops his thumb from the loop – it leverages Joel closer, which is precisely what she’s desirous for. 

“I was thinking…”

“Mmm. Ya do that a lot, doncha?” 

“You love it.”

“Oh, very much, Red.” Joel’s sight tilts low on the girl as he affirms her assumptions, his cheek and age lines crinkling by an impish, coy smile. He won’t leave her in suspension for too long though; they’re teetering between a silence for the sake of flirting and an undesirable quiet that may fill the wake if left to its own devices. Generally speaking, the man knows how to balance and ride the nuance rails but with her, he’s still learning and doesn’t want to risk mood ruination. 

“Alright. I’ll bite. What’s on ya mind?” 

The girl nibbles on a lip and actively avoids his devouring gaze for a spell, wondering not for the first time if she’s physically adept to undertake what it is she’s angling to do. Despite the cacophonous doubt within, Ellie will still _try._ The girl wants to pleasure him, to earn his praise and approval by showing initiative – it’s a raw, unspoken conveyance that she’s ready. 

...Ready to be instructed and guided, too; she wants Joel to teach her how to take, touch and handle him just the way he likes it. The way that set his teeth on edge and left him white-knuckling bed sheets as he spurted onto her twitching pussy. The way he snapped his groin upwards and groaned, his body feral for hers as his white painted Ellie’s pink. The way she _coaxed_ him into revealing how badly he wanted to fuck her. 

Ellie pleads with her hidden confines, making a reverent bargain to Father Time itself that it may allow her to unearth all the ways she could end Joel without _actually_ ending the man.

She aches for more of those dominating grunts and growls when Joel orgasms – it’s as if the sound originates from an entirely different entity altogether. It frightens and lures her, taunts and teases, too. The girl means to elicit the waking of that demon time and time again – to earn his spend and the threateningly desperate undertones of his climax as she pushes his boundaries and tests his limitations. 

Ellie wants to behold all of Joel’s darkness and repurpose it into something only they can share – something only they can see and harness in one another. 

Upon the last musing, she summons a memory wraith as she slips into the void of sublime subduction; his voice, those thunderous echoes and salacious snarls, are cycling freely in her mind...

 _“Don’t gotta be nervous, El...”  
“So damn sexy, girl...”  
“...Let’s stretch ya...”  
“Wanna feel ya come around my fingers…”_

A shiver ignites her system as errant embers of his fiery touch sear through her veins. She senses the ghostly trails of Joel’s substantial hands as they gripped and grabbed her – this vision of the night before consuming her in crashing tides of crimson and burnt orange. Of sweat and breath and _half-truths_. 

Lit by the flame within and without, the girl nearly succumbs by the incantation of it all: Those coaxing, teasing fingers that buried and stretched her slippery hole, that worked her open and prepared her. 

It was but a wicked consumption that visited her on the eve – and him – a spellbinding torment she prays he’ll offer time immemorial. 

Ellie’s every sense is a subservient entity to this reeling overwhelm – her operatic body singing for his. Just as it’s done all day. 

After surviving an agonizing simmer from their morning in bed and time spent at Church in close proximity to one another – Ellie being more handsy than she should have – her reserves are woefully depleted. Even at the Bison the girl felt spasms coming to her in periods of remanded, wanton silence. So dire were her straits that she took to widening and sealing her thighs beneath the safety of their tabletop, rubbing just enough to placate while starving her body just the same. 

He knew she was squirming and she could sense that he was as well. It made the shared experience all the more tempting somehow; every unsaid, unspoken gradation that lived and lingered between them...and over brunch at that. 

Surrounded by friends and acquaintances alike, each of them were none the wiser and wholly unaware of the volcanic eruption that was priming in their midst. She knows now that it not only enhanced their lust but the intensity of their secrecy – so much so that Ellie nearly canceled her Christmas scavenging hunt with Dina to chase him home and climb him like a tree. 

Alas. 

Ellie exhales and wets her lips as this deluge of sensation and recollection continues to assault, her panties direct victims of its barrage. She feels the rush of heat as her arousal soaks through the thin, sheer fabric between her legs – the girl needs to adjust without divulging the true nature of this plight just yet. 

Scissoring her thighs, she wiggles her nub against the pronounced denim knot at the heart of her skin-tight jeans. It stems the ache for the time being. Although it’s not nearly enough and she knows this restlessness will forge on – still, the girl consciously remains soundless throughout, doing her utmost to hide the blatant imprudence. 

She seals her jade and tries to tame her faltering resolve – to burn on for him, yes, but with focus and cunning determination at the lead. If he suspects that she’s floundering or lost to the firestorm, he’ll instinctively take over; it’s obvious that the girl loves when Joel does this, wants it more than she’s willing to admit at this level, but tonight, Ellie needs to be the one to saddle the reins with _this next part_. 

_’We’re alone and together with all those promises you made, Joel. I wanna show you how rea-’_

“Darlin’?” 

He returns her. 

She searches his hazels and discovers a faint trace of a patient devilry to his reflective irises – it’s a distinct familiarity, albeit precise, and she recognizes her cover is being summarily disassembled. Ellie muffles a nervous laugh – she won’t surrender the minimal ground she’s gaining though. 

“I want _you_ to close your eyes this time, Joel. Want you to feel me. It-it’ll be worth it.” 

His throat works at that, bobbing as it ingests her suggestion and the memory of something else from a long, long time ago. Beyond that, Joel understands what she’s putting forth here – though what she intends to _do_ with him remains to be seen. Though he can guess as well. 

“Right here?” 

The man peers about with inquisitive amusement but his stalling grinds to an abrupt halt: Ellie’s fingers are fussing with his flannel, pinching an inch or so of the fabric and pulling at it, methodically repeating this process from front to back on him. She’s making short work of the top, curling a lip in on itself as she wordlessly operates. 

He stares on as this begins to unfold, arrowing his groin inwards ever-so and raising his arms along her flanks to anchor himself; Joel grips the island’s chilled marble and leans closer to the girl, “Ya want ‘em closed now?” 

The girl’s vision flicks high and she calls to order without a sole utterance, taunting him with a swollen, teasing silence. She’s staring with imploration, boring chasms into his darkening hazel by the sunfire of her jade. There’s an inferno that’s burning beneath a curtain of auburn lashes, an intensity that leaves no room for question or doubt. 

Her answer is definitive. 

“Okay. Right here then.” 

Joel closes his eyes. 

His shirt untucked, Ellie takes to its snaps, unfastening one nickel button after the next; she finds this bit partially familiar at least and it’s a measure of comfort that’s wholly welcome. After, her knuckles linger and press to the ferric muscle of his wide chest; waves of warmth emanate from Joel’s solid structure and it’s an inviting respite to the girl – a grounding tactic that has yet to fail her. 

Joel’s always been a furnace, and right now he’s emitting a permeation that’s filling the immediacy between them. He’s heating her core to a temperature that’s borderline fatal, and still, she wants to plead for more. _Will_ plead for more. Beg if need be. 

It occurs to Ellie then that if she were intoxicated and far more versed in these types of situations, the girl might consider ripping the shirt apart and tossing it into the trash can. Unfortunately, she’s neither of those and so slow going is the favorable play here – a way to shush her overly enthusiastic nerves with the employ of instinctual action. Follow her gut...and _other things._

Still, she’s no longer of a mind to dally in the removal of his apparel – there’s no point in pretending this isn’t leading towards what they both want, irrespective of the fact that it’s not quite clear where this is going just yet. To which she is deriving a hearty heaping of delight from at present. 

Ellie clicks her tongue as she looks at him, admiring how this man fills out a tee and how she wants him to fill her; she’s twisting and turning the threadbare flannel for a spell as she imbibes this image of him. His bulk is evident everywhere she peruses – from his formidable arms and the protrusion of their veins to his impressive expanse; Ellie hushedly counts her blessings. But she wants to have more of him. Always more more more with Joel Miller.

She lets the checkered top fall to the floor, abandoning it on the tumultuous heel of her lustful heart and prying eyes. His gray undershirt follows like a forgotten afterthought – wholly unimportant in the grand scheme, no matter how well its duties were fulfilled prior to its careless demise. 

“Mmph.” The sigh betrays her quiet but intrigue and dignity are of lesser import all of a sudden – there’s no sense in covering up her transparent truths. But to curb herself by using _only_ her eyes to absorb him is akin to living a half-life – a poor imitation of what she truly wants. 

“Mmmm...love how big you are, Joel.” 

“That right?” 

She nods and mumbles something inaudible but it’s enough of an acquiescence in the haze of the rising fray. 

From there, she traces the undercarriage of his biceps and drags her fingertips along the stony curvature of his rough skin; she goes slow at this, her nails catching on stray scar tissue and the outer lines of those thick lodes she will never tire of. 

At some point in the near future the girl _will_ nip him to stake her claim and emphasize just how attracted she is to him and his build. Yes, Ellie will definitely do this regardless of whether or not he appreciates or even understands it. She suspects it’ll make Joel laugh though, so if nothing else, it’ll be a gambade that’s worth the effort. 

Ellie grabs onto each of his yet-to-be-bitten forearms and squeezes, nearly hissing as the corded muscle tenses and tightens in her grasp. 

“Fuck, I love your arms...” It’s a whisper, another declarative sentiment in this shared space, though it’s not all that new in its base nature. 

“Yeah?” 

Time to lay it on the line.

“Gonna bite you one day.” 

He snort-laughs at the idea of that (just as she imagined) and bobs his head, “Reckon so?” 

“Know so. But I won’t bite you today.” 

“An’ here I was worryin’ my eyes are closed ‘cause ya wanna nibble on me.” 

Sage spheres flash as her chin juts forward and each of her hands release their hold, “Taunting me, Joel?” 

“I’d never.” 

“Mmm, real convincing, Mr. Miller.” 

She caps the light banter with a swift, albeit practiced, pull of his belt and allows the thing to drop onto the pile of discarded garments. She meets his belly with both hands then, her touch feathering upwards as she feels and learns the man; his hair is coarse and plentiful, a mix of black and gray that layers him from cock to collarbone. It’s an enticing pattern – thicker in some areas, thinner in others, but it’s innately masculine and the girl loves it, all of it. Especially the gray. 

Listing forward, she places her lips to his breastbone and kisses the concave between his pectorals – the sentiment is light but certain, her lips drawing warmth from his skin the longer she remains. 

Ellie breathes him in, all pine, wood shavings and something else – a distinct scent grounding the distrustful doubt that plagues her when it concerns this man. This form of uncertainty is a stowaway from their early days together, surely, but wildly wasteful given what she’s long known and all the incredible challenges and changes they’ve survived since.

Still, old habits. 

Refocusing, she glimpses the bulbous tail of a sizable cicatrix north of his heart, part way hidden by his chest hair but discernible nevertheless. But it doesn’t look familiar to her. Ellie’s seen Joel without a shirt on plenty – long before the attraction and this novel paracosm they’re manifesting – and yes, it’s been a while, but she thought she knew most, if not all, of his battle wounds by now. 

And yet. 

She runs a finger over its jagged, raised edging, and notes not only its length but how close it is to one of his most vital organs. The same broken organ that took a chance on her so many years ago, no matter how badly it hurt the man to do so. 

The girl wants the story behind this new discovery but surmises this isn’t the proper time – later, however, she will make time. The placement is sobering and that’s enough to warrant an inquiry. Regardless, she kisses that, too, and puts it out of her mind. 

After, Ellie’s lips suck his throat for a spell as she eases her hands into that thick, ample mane of his; her fingertips crest his ears and she nearly whines at the need she has for all parts of him. More, she craves it all. Rising on the balls of her feet to bite a lobe, she pulls on the scarred thing before licking and releasing it; he emits a rumbly noise at that, his temple leaning against hers as she continues to treat and tease him. 

She lightly wrests the base of his hair before riding her nails along the curvature of his skull and wrapping both arms around his neck. Ellie hugs him, burying her nose into his neck and inhaling that cozy distinction she’s becoming addicted to. But she needs to extend the boundaries of this session, to move them along and get to where she’s intending. 

But first, “Don’t ever cut your hair shorter than this...” 

Joel titters with amusement and the impish exhalation warms the side of her cheek, “Or what?” 

Ellie nips at him again as the heat of his incitation spreads and catches within, “Or I’ll eat every fucking peach I find right in front of you.” 

“That’a threat?”

“A promise.” 

“Well, so long as I can eat your peach, darlin’, I don’t need anythin’ else.” 

An expulsion of laughter bursts from the girl and her head snaps to the rear in mock surprise, “Is _that_ a threat?” 

With his eyes still under the guise of her strict commands, “Nope. A promise.” 

Ellie pulls Joel in for a messy, needful kiss, her body sculpting to his as she tastes and tongues the man; his grip has yet to leave the countertop but that’s intentional – she wants him to feel her as _she_ touches him, not the other way around. So, he’ll continue to honor that but if she takes this journey any slower than she already is, he may start wandering on his own volition and who knows what could become of them then. 

Finally, they surface for air, and Ellie shifts to resume her efforts tenfold. 

“I like your promises, Joel. You keep them.” 

“An’ I like your ass, girl. Gonna be easy to keep that one.” At that he separates an arm from the marble and spanks one of her pert, perky cheeks, gripping and spreading the malleable flesh as he goes. 

“Mmph, fuck I love when you do th–wait, no, hands off, you. Put it back on the island.” 

The man clicks his tongue but obeys nonetheless, leaning closer to the girl as he awaits what’s next in this outline of seduction.

“Good. Save your spanks for later. A girl’s gotta earn them first.” 

“Oh?” 

“You heard me.” 

He exhales at that and she sees his brow furrow and lips pucker tightly – she’s got him where she wants him. 

Onward, she traverses her tactility lower, running along the peaks and valleys of another scar she knows far too intimately; the one Joel earned when he fell and was impaled on an errant pike of rebar. She had never been so scared in her entire life than she was in that moment – not even the Runner that bit her had frightened the girl as much as seeing Joel fall and all the blood and infection that came afterwards. 

Ellie pointedly refuses to unearth _those_ memories, the ones surrounding every harrowing hour, day and all the weeks that came and went after – for once again, now is not the time. But she does feel an appreciation for the gnarly mark that will be a part of his body forever. Another beginning for them.

They’ve had quite a few. 

“Should tattoo my name on this one, huh? _‘Ellie was here.’_ ”

Joel grumbles a tentative laugh and dips his head – but doesn’t unseal his hazels. Following her orders and her voice, “So long as it’s your name, Red. All that work ya did kept me alive. It’s yours as much as it’s mine.” 

She raises and gives him a quick kiss, flattening her palm to the chaotic displacement of his healed tissue, “Fuck yeah it’ll be my name. You had some wild dreams, too. Talked a lot in your fever sleep.”

“Mmhm, suppose so. Maybe we should get shirts for it. Went to Colorado an’ all I got was this scar.” 

She wants to ask what the hell that means, what’s the joke or...is it even a joke? But deduces it must be another spillover from a world she never knew. A world she doesn’t really want to know. Despite the rest, she notes the mirthful tinge to his tone, so the girl suspects it’s satirical and that’s enough. Ellie loves when Joel spars with her in that way. 

“I like you without shirts on though. Like looking at you…” 

As she muses on her own affirmations, the girl sedately descends before him, sliding her hands down his abs and over his hips as she goes. She spreads her legs into a wide v as she eases into a squat; there’s just enough room between the base of the island at her spine and his legs to situate at a reasonably workable angle. 

A sharp sniff lances the quiet: Ellie’s jeans are uncompromisingly tight, the denim all but forming to her leaking center with even the slightest of maneuvers. If she leans, tilts or bobbles, the middle knot pushes against her stone-hard nub, sending pulsating sparks throughout her entire body. 

The girl wonders in earnest if she can climax from something as simple as that…and an insatiable ache to try strikes her. She’s driving herself to a destination of desperation at this point. 

“Like looking at you without anything on, really.” 

“What ‘bout the vest?” 

“Even the vest would be too much.” 

“Ahh, no vest then.” 

Eye level with his waist, the stud at the top is undone but before she opens the zipper, she palms his cock and rubs it with eager intent; teasing the length of him, she uses the heel of her hand and presses down as she goes, rounding his tip and handling him as best she’s able. 

He’s long enough that he’s jutting off to the side, the curve of his head damn near punching through a jean pocket. 

“Fuck. Love this big cock. Wanna make you come again, Joel.” 

He slants his hips upwards and murmurs something similar to an _‘mmyesmm’_ until he clears his throat and, “In-in my pants?” 

“Nope.” 

“Oh?” 

She doesn’t answer but instead removes the metallic sutures and works the jeans low until gravity finishes the remainder of the task. The denim gathers at his ankles in a collective mess of dark blue and Ellie stows the image of this away for safekeeping and rainy days. When her fingers are idle and her mind is inundated with thoughts of this man and only this man. 

The girl grabs the back of his thighs and redirects, kneading the taut, tensile strength that makes those impressive limbs all the more intimidating. Her declarations of how she loves his size were not in vain and she wants him to know it, to ingest and understand all of it. How every inch of him is an aphrodisiac and something worthy of her admiration and praise. 

She loves him and wants to show that. 

Still, Joel’s boxer-briefs are concealing him but she views it as a small benefit for the time being – Ellie needs a few more moments to work up to this next part. 

“Better not be peeking.” 

“Eyes closed, girl, just like ya sai-” 

The man goes rigid as her mouth presses onto his dick through the fabric; the heat from those full lips of hers instantly severs the endmost tethers of his rhetoric. Joel juts forward in supplication, seeking more contact in an advocacy on his behalf; his need is overtaking all measures of control, stemming from the culmination of a day spent turned on more than not. 

_”Oh.”_

She rubs his length again while gently rolling his balls through the flimsy cotton and, “So fucking hard for me. Can’t wait to feel you inside of me, stretching and taking what’s yours.” 

“Ellie…”

The girl burrows her nose and lips to the side of him as she mulls on the impurity of his needful plea, consuming his warmth just as he is hers. He might not last all that long, no matter how inept or unskilled she may be at...everything. This is undoubtedly the best case scenario – a perfect cockstorm for a beginner like her: Share earth-shattering truths while nakedly grinding in bed. Push an ass against him over and over again in church. Pinch and tease the man at breakfast and then leave him worrying for hours so he’s too distracted to jerk off. 

_’Grade A Planning, Williams.’_

_”Joel…”_

A fingertip rounds the apex of his head and she feels a wet, slippery spot there; she grins and shifts – and squirms – as she licks her tongue across the patch of dark fabric and squeezes his cock throughout. It elicits a groan from somewhere far above her and she knows resolutely that he won’t last. 

After a few loops of this, the girl speaks in a low frequency, her words partially muffled but discernible just the same, “Want you to teach me, Joel. Wanna know how to suck you off, how you like it…how to take all of you.” 

He growls at that and Ellie thinks she may very well start dripping _through_ her pants at just how gravelly his voice sounds from this place below him; his sounds and reactiveness are a tempest that’s threatening her shores. But she doesn’t want to go under just yet, doesn’t want to give in to the desire or the tendrils of inadequacy that will likely plague her until she does the thing. 

She hooks all eight of her fingers into the elastic rim of his Hanes, massaging his tip with a thumb and hovering a spell – the girl knows what’s next but is anxious all the same. 

“So...you’ll teach me?” 

Joel collects himself, exhales a gust of hot air and, “Mmhm. Jus’ take it slow, girl. If you’re nervous.” 

“Not nervous at all, I mean, it’s just an eight-inch long cock right in my face and I’ve never done this before. What’s there to be nervous about?” 

Joel breaks his code – and Ellie’s rule by proxy – as his lids crack open; he releases the center island and submerges his free hands into her mess of auburn. Rounding her slowly, he cradles her jaw and gently guides her face from his crotch, “Hey, look’a me, pretty.” 

She does. 

“When’d ya measure me?” 

She laughs a great ebullient laugh and he does, too, which severs her anxiety-riddled tension by nearly half; if she wasn’t so ready to suck him silly, she would stand and jump into his arms with grateful appreciation. Alas. 

“When? Well that’s none of your business.” 

“Honey, that might be the only thing that _is_ my business.” 

“Touché. But I’ll never tell and you can’t make me.” 

“We’ll see ‘bout that.” 

She smirks but pats his thigh and flashes her eyes, “Alright, hazels closed again.” 

He does as he’s told. 

She’s still hooking into the waistband, still teasing his swollen glans through the dark cotton; the spot is wetter now, both from his excitement and her spit, but it’s no matter. The boxers aren’t long for the world Ellie’s crafting. 

It’s time. She wants to do this and he wants her to do this. It’s a win-win no matter how one views it. 

_’What was it he said before he jumped off the balcony that one time? Oh…_

_Geronimo.’_

Lifting the ruined fabric up and over him, she tugs it away from his belly and pulls the underwear down past his balls; his cock bounces up and out, smacking his belly with a quick _smkk_ before straightening and bobbing there a beat. Joel’s so hard his shading is of a darker gradient than it typically is – what Ellie recognizes as his about-to-come color. 

With a deliciously indecent glint to her glassy gaze, Ellie licks her lips and, “Wanna empty you, Joel...wanna feel you come down my fucking throat.” 

He grunts and pitches forward, ironing his grip to the sloping plain of cold marble again; he’s leveraging his air intake and trying not to beg the girl, trying not to let it go too soon. But his veins are live wires leading directly to his aching cock – he wants Ellie to take his load with that vulgar mouth of hers but is fearful of pushing too far into new territory. 

Joel puts the girl’s interests first, “Take...take it slow. Don’t need’a be swallowin’ on your first pass.” 

A heavy ardor infuses itself into her words as she enfolds the man and begins to stroke him, “Do you like it best when it’s swallowed?” 

“Mmph, yeah but-” 

“But nothing. Let me try for you, Joel.” 

Using the pad of a thumb, she crests the crown of him, redistributing a bead of Joel’s precome to slick the entire head and part of his length – but it’s not enough. Ellie likes it messy and drippy, just like he was last night – though he had her come at his disposal. She thinks for a beat and instinctively opens her mouth and dribbles a globule of spit onto him, watching as it begins to roll south between the contours of his protruding veins. 

“Fuck, Joel…” 

Taking her hands, the girl draws on him from root to tip, earning another drop of clear fluid as she summits his peak. But this time Ellie licks it directly off his cock; she swirls it in her mouth for a moment, favoring the taste of him in this new way. She savors it, too, recognizing the same notes as before but there’s an agrestal addiction already usurping her sensibility and inhibitions. 

She needs more. 

Her tongue takes one pass, then another, and her shadowy-greens fail in their fight against the lure of a predatorial oblivion; she closes her eyes and begins, jerking him off while licking and rounding the silky-soft top in tandem. She’s changing her approach from one side to the other, from one angle to the next; the girl craves to be the best at this for him – wants to slurp, suck and play with Joel’s cock every day, if he’ll let her. 

_’If I’m good enough this first time, he should definitely let me.’_

Joel sniffs sharply as her tongue circles on him again but this borderline teasing is beginning to drive him towards an instability he’s not sure he can handle. 

“‘S’good, baby. Put me in that mouth’a yours nice an’ easy. Take as much as ya want…” 

And the girl does. Ellie loosens the last vestiges of tension from her blind fervor and widens her jaw, stretching to have him go in a little bit at a time. One inch – making certain that none of her teeth graze the man – then another. Her lips form a natural seal to him and it’s not long before she’s slowly sucking, her head bobbing up and down in a rhythmic, deliberate pattern.

Ellie’s hypnotizing herself as she takes him farther in with every immersion, mindful of the rear of her throat but eager to know just how deep she can get him. He’s long enough that not even half of his cock is in her mouth but she won’t judge her performance too harshly on this first go around. Knows he won’t either. She feels equally safe and comfortable in his charge – minus the empty hole between her legs that’s all but screaming at her for attention now. But that’s another issue entirely. 

“Oh hell, girl…s’real good. Damn...wanna see. Can I see ya, Red?” 

She pulls him out of her mouth but keeps stroking; sliding his shiny tip back and forth across her saliva-slick lips, she parts and, “Open your eyes, Joel. Watch me fuck your cock with my mouth.” 

He practically snarls at her provocation, the air hitching in his lungs like an encased inferno as he tries to ease his roaring arousal. His cock is throbbing, his balls aching for release and here’s his woman, edging him on while somehow knowing that this entire experience is brand new for her. 

Joel tilts his head and peers low, finds the girl squatting with her legs spread and his dick twitching in her petite set of hands; Ellie’s chin is glistening with spittle and her lips are blood-red but there’s an unrestrained look to her that’s dangerously gorgeous. She’s servicing him, which of course feels otherworldly considering it’s been years since his last time, but there’s something beyond that – she’s _hungry_ to do this as much as he needs it. 

It’s also been a while since doubt and self-beration had their play in the murky mines of his psyche; alongside the ferocity of his pining there’s a wisp of disbelief, too. That what he’s witnessing must be a supernatural event, or from another timeline or life — but one that is surely not his own. 

He studies the scene again.  
Yep, that’s his girl going down on him. 

_’Look what she’s doin’ to ya...Christ, alive.’_

“Can I try something else?” 

Fortunately for him, Ellie’s question distracts and retracts from the wasteful conjuring of his lust-fucked mind. Once he seats and returns to their joined realm, Joel cups her face, rubs a digit across her scarlet maw and, “I’m yours, darlin’.” 

She smiles brightly at that, her eyes slitting into tiny lines as a chemical-green burns there for him; the girl kisses his thumb as it loops another lap and with her eyes still on him, she licks from his balls to his febrile tip before turning away. Joel grunts and twitches at that, inwardly accosting himself to gain better control over his reactions – to calm the hell down. 

“Mm...that what ya wanted to tr-” 

She rends his speech for the second or third time tonight as her lips press and part against one of his balls; Ellie sucks lightly at the soft skin as her hand lazily strokes him throughout. A rumbly growl gurgles from the depths of his chasmic center and he shakes, actually shakes, as an ensuing tremor tears through him. 

“Oh _fuck_ , Ellie. Girl, I ain’t gonna last. Suckin’ on my balls like that...” 

The girl hums against his sack, as if she’s acknowledging a challenge, and suctions a little harder on him; he likes it, loves it even, but it’s been so long that he’s almost forgotten _what_ he actually favors. 

This, he favors this. Her. 

Spit coats and dribbles down her chin and neck before slipping beneath the hem of her shirt; the droplets tickle her hot skin as they travel between her breasts before ultimately drying out on their lofty quest. Ellie loves how explicitly filthy it makes her feel – of how she wants to feel other things drip and trickle on her skin, too. 

“Oh hell, girl, fuck, if ya wanna swallow you gotta put me back in _nn…_ ” Joel’s rhetoric lingers in its abandonment, his head falling to the rear as he feels her lips envelop his dick again. It’s too much, much too much, and though he’s reticent to give in, he won’t be able to stop himself at this rate.

“Mm...that’s good, real good. S-suck a little harder and– _ohgodyeah_ , just like that. Goddammit, Ellie. You sure ya want me’a...fuckin’ shoot in your mouth?” His sentiments are choppy and chaotic, matching the furor of his heartbeat and the pace of his asynchronous breathing. 

She pops off of him, her touch tight and slow, hands dripping now along with her face and his cock, “Give it to me, Joel. I want it so bad…”

“Oh, fuck, you beggin’ me, aintcha girl…” 

She licks his head, jerkily stroke-sucks for a spell before pulling him out again; she gazes high through her lashes and nods, “I wanna taste you, wanna feel you empty in me…wanna have you this way.” 

He wraps a hand below her jaw as he guides himself into her mouth again, his other mooring to the solid pier that’s allowing him to remain upright. His knuckles might very well explode through his skin if he grips any harder, but it’s an injury he’s willing to take. 

“Keep my cock as far in as ya can get it. It...mmph...it might make it easier– _fuck_ , Ellie, I’m gonna come…” 

She does as she’s instructed, instinctively working her tongue around and under him. She slurps the thick, excess fluid that originates from the base of her throat as she waits for his imminent release – the girl is not waiting long. 

He growls and grunts, his hips nearly vibrating as he tries to stay his middle from snapping hard into her and risking damage to both of them. “Fuck, oh fuck–mm...such a good girl, drainin’ me...” Joel spurts in her mouth and notices a minute shift as her head lists just enough, but she doesn't forfeit her pursuit. The girl does not frighten easily. 

Ellie works her throat and tongue simultaneously, fighting the momentary urge to gag at the misalignment of his initial spasm and the placement of her tongue. First time and all. But she’s always been quick to learn and this is no exception; as he continues to shoot, she continues to play, milking him for all he’s got. 

A hand travels up from his dick to his belly, and she scrapes the firm flesh and hair there, needing to imbibe some of the power that’s surging throughout the man. She touches and spreads the spit-slick over him, matting his hair carelessly. Neither mind. 

Joel holds onto her and the countertop as he crests the waves of his orgasm; his knees feel on the verge of buckling, his eyes are sealed shut and his chest is a vice – but she’s not stopping. 

He shakes as his woman proceeds onward unimpededly – licking, sucking, and teasing him; he can’t help the bubble of laughter that rises in him as his body tetters on that precipice of post-orgasm over-stimulation, “Ok...okay. Mmph…” 

Finally, she ceases her closing arguments and with a mysterious mischief to eyes he’s come to recognize better than his own, he watches as she winks. 

Joel snorts. And then bends backwards as he tries to level his breathing. 

“Get up here, ya wild girl.” 

He helps her onto her feet and she immediately slips her arms around his waist and wiggles her middle to his naked sex; he’s mostly soft now – with a layer of cooling spit drying on him – but she doesn’t want to stow him away for the night just yet. Ellie loves him, all of him and the more she gets to see, the better off she is. 

“I do okay?” 

He chuffs and lays his forehead to hers, his breathing just about normal again, “Ellie, I’d’a never known it was your first time doin’ that. Jesus, girl. I’m still twitchin’, even if it feels like I ain’t.” 

She grins and drags her tongue along her lower lip, tasting him there and already longing for more, “Sooo you won’t mind if I randomly wake you in the middle of the night. Ya know, to practice. Since I’m so new and all.” 

The man laughs and oscillates his head, “No arguments from me, Red. However–” he stops to kiss her and sneakily yank apart the buttons on her blouse and jeans, “–I reckon it’s time I get some’a my own practice in.” 

She nuzzles into the crook of his neck as he works her top and bra loose and throws them onto the floor, adding to their collection. As Joel busies himself, Ellie suck-kisses the heated skin above his collarbone while silently beseeching him to be inside of her. To spread, open and rearrange her to fit him and only him. But the likelihood of that happening tonight is slim to none – be it on account that she’s just emptied the man or if Joel believes she’s not ready enough yet, either or. 

But the girl is aching and her mind is drifting on seascapes of azure and amber; he’s touching the girl as he undresses and exposes her to him – Ellie unapologetically adores this part. Loves how handsy and explorative he is with her, as though he’s discovering new and ancient stories upon the tapestry of her pale skin. 

As though he’s worshiping and taking ownership of her concomitantly; it’s tantalizing in ways that allow room for few, if any, words to define its gravitas. 

“C’mere,” he mumbles, moving the linen gift out of the way before grabbing her midsection and lifting her up and onto the kitchen island. He parts her thighs, lists inward to her bare chest and kisses her stars, closing his eyes as her hands slip into his hair and hold him there. Joel can sense the reverberating brontide of her pounding heart, its vigor driving her towards a precipice he means to take her to. 

Pulling away far enough to see her, Joel pauses at the portrait that’s sitting before him: The girl’s hair is curtaining her face like a cascade of deep auburn – wild, untamed and partially damp from her excursions. But it’s those eyes that cause his resolve to flounder and his cock to jump again; they’re darker than he’s ever seen them, as though all the color has fled in favor of an imposing carnality. 

“Need’a taste you, baby…” 

He slides her jeans off, both legs at a time, and makes no effort to stifle an immediate groan; the saturated center between her legs is dark but shiny even in the dim lighting, the thin fabric coated and dripping with her slick, “Mm, ya panties soaked through.” 

She nods and runs the pad of her fingers up and down on herself, pressing firmly while watching him watch her, “Suppose we should take them off?” 

Joel smiles at that, a toothy, unbelievably-gorgeous sort of smile, but concedes in kind, “Mmhm. Seems we should...” 

The girl flattens her palms to the stony, smooth surface on either side of herself and, “Want me to lay back?” 

He inhales as he widens the space between her legs and thumbs the drippy center of her sheer undergarments for a beat, “If ya want. Up to you, girl.” 

She does. 

Joel travels his kiss from her thigh to a hip before finally arriving at Ellie's lithe belly; he sedately removes her underwear but not without tapping, touching and tormenting all the while. A pair of fingers play and pinch her swollen nub as he hovers, allowing his girl to settle in before repositioning her again. For what he wants to do to her. 

The man raises her legs and holds her limbs apart, using the bend by the rear of her knees as an anchor. He kneads her firm hamstrings before gripping and pushing down onto them farther, widening that little hole for him even more, “I got’a request, girl...” 

Ellie rises from the counter just enough to absorb this portrait of him situating by her sex – she wants to pay attention to that and only that but he asked her something or was about to ask her something...she can’t be certain so, “Huh?” 

Joel smirks and presses a light kiss to her pussy, “Don’t be quiet.”

††††

“Good moooorning, Williams. You’re...three minutes late.”

“Pereria.” 

“Oh, not a good morning?” 

“Did I say that?” 

Dina’s lips purse as she squints those devilishly deep irises of hers, shoulders rising and dipping in an ambiguous nonchalance they both know she’s falsifying. 

Ellie enjoys it when her friend strives to figure her out whilst pretending not to care. Despite the fact that seldom do these endeavors end in Ellie’s favor. 

“Great morning actually.” 

“Do tell.”

“Eh, maybe not.”

“You’re a pain in my ass. And I have a fantastic ass, I’ll have you know. One that doesn’t deserve such pain. Least of all from your not so subtle bait.” 

Ellie simpers as she rests her loaded Winchester into the corner of the tower’s overlook; she steals a gander beyond the structure’s frame and the apex of the gate below them, staring hushedly into the abundant thicket of Jackson’s forests. 

The trees are burdened by a blanketing of heavy snow, their branches bowing closer to the earth by the weight of it all; a storm blew through over the weekend and there’s another on the horizon that’s priming to drop a few more feet yet. Wyoming winter is in full regale.

Still, it’s beautiful as hell and Ellie allows a sense of fortune to imbue her – of all the places she could have ended up, _this_ cozy mountain hideaway is her home. Well, a very specific person _and_ this place is her home, rather. 

“Can’t deny that view.” 

“What?” 

“Oh, nothing. Never mind.” 

Ellie cups her hands and suspires a lungful of hot air directly into the bowl of them, rubbing furiously in a futile attempt to warm her chilled appendages; thirty minutes ago she was wrapped in the arms of a human furnace, her body trembling after an intense makeout session with the man she’s head over heels in love with. 

_’Though you haven’t told him that yet… But he’s so deliciously distracting, dammit. Can’t get anything done around that man anymore.’_

Joel woefully banished Ellie from their bed this morning – before summarily pulling her back into it – as he knew her shift started an hour earlier than his. He offered to make her breakfast, or take her to the Bison, but they ran short on time and thus, Williams was approximately three minutes late to her post today. Thankfully it’s Dina on duty with her, not that she would have ever minded all that much, but punctuation is important to Maria and the on-site managers down in the guard shack. 

Ellie’s never been one to let people down, not even by three stupid minutes. 

But her man and this morning and all they did together last night has her spinning the clock down until they can do it again. And _more_. 

“Ellie?” 

“Hmm? Sorry. You say something?” 

“Let me guess… Something tall, dark and handsome on that mind of yours?” 

Ellie smirks but stows an immediate retort, the girl’s thoughts indeed awash with a tall, dark, and handsome man. And the fact that her best friend openly proclaims this for her is a validation of the sort she never imagined needing. She likes that – likes that her friend likes her love. 

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Mmhm. And how is Mr. Miller on this tits-freezing Monday morning?” 

Ellie sighs through her amusement as she returns to the safe, cozy space that sets her apart from this icy reality. Not with Dina, but the wintry world itself. 

So she thinks of him, wondering what he’s up to and if he’s dressed for work yet (he is, she knows him well enough to know as much). But it’s the ensuing fantasy that steals her; Ellie’s drawing an invocation of a simplistic familiarity – of habits, routine and a regimen that’s as much a part of his normal as she is these days. Again, at least. 

The girl pulls gently on these alluring threads, swallowing the sudden ache that rises by the peaceful plainness of it all. 

Joel’s probably grumbling as he hovers above a neglected mug of cooling chicory while preparing for his shift at the armory. He’s doing inventory today; there’s that trade caravan arriving from the west coast and Maria’s contact mentioned a bountiful weapons deal. The community’s leader regularly tasks Joel, Tommy, Pastor Pedro and Jesse to these intakes, entrusting such a sizable barter to her most reliable crew. Habit, routines, regimens.

Dina’s sigh cuts the silence as she nudges the sole of Ellie’s boot with her own in an act to retrieve her friend’s attention again. 

“Before I loop back to this ‘maybe’ nonsense of yours, I gotta say–I’m excited to hear what he thinks of your Christmas _”gift_.” Like, yeah cool yay, Christmas is almost here and I’m as thrilled as anyone but really, I can’t wait to squirrel you away at Tommy and Maria’s and get the _scoop_.” 

Ellie returns the gesture with a bump of her shoulder but with a warm smile as an additive; she licks her lips, temporarily lost to the wayfaring winds of her musing mind once more – to the remembrance and the inextricable roiling of these lustful, loving tides that move her. 

She may be momentarily gone to the _before_ but Ellie’s permanently lost to him. Of that there is no doubt. 

Dina misinterprets this latest stint of quiet as a revelatory awkwardness – and dismay begins to mar her tone in its stead, “Oh you better not have–Ellie, did you show it to him already? I swear. All that snow and mud and bullshit we had to get through to find that fucking thing. I’m not going back out into that busted, moist Macy’s again. I’m just not.” 

“I didn’t! I didn’t. Relax. It’s a Christmas gift, well one of at least. And I actually have some patience, thank you very fucking much. And don’t say moist.” 

The girl deadpans and, “ _Moist_. But, okay, if that’s true, why do you have a shit-eating grin on your face then, hmm?” 

Silence ensues. 

Dina levels her stern but roguish leer onto her friend and waits in feigned consternation; she taps her wrist as she pantomimes a phantom watch before lifting her eyebrows, “Okay, I’m literally aging waiting on you to answer. I’m gonna be as gray as he is if you don’t tell me soon. But you seem to like that look so maybe it’s not a bad thing? Could be your evil plan all along, now that I’m really thinking about it...” 

Ellie straightens her posture and shifts to stand by the ledge nearest her rifle; she lines her spine to the rough planks of wood that serve as a guardrail and grips the edging after. She drops her head, exhales a gray plume of steam and, “Last night was a really good night…” 

The other girl notes the enticing tone of Ellie’s terse statement and steps to her friend in a plea for more – but mindfully searches their immediate surroundings first. She marks a few folks walking near the entrance but they’re all well out of earshot and below them. Tower 3 is twenty or so yards away with Ben and Cedric on post but again, both men are too far out to overhear anything of substance. 

Irrespective of that, the girl understands how private this entire situation is – be it Joel and Ellie’s intentions or by its very nature – thus she lowers her voice and, “Did you...did you fuck him?” 

Ellie crosses her arms and sways at that, chews on the inside of her lip until, “No, no. But I did a new thing and he did a new thing to me and Dina, I fucking just–damn. Ya know?” 

Her friend leans off to the side and suggestively waggles her eyebrows in response. “Ohhhh? Well, go on, share with the class.” 

“The class being...you?” 

“Mmhm, correct, I am the whole fucking class now stop with the stalling, Williams. What did you do...what did _he_ do? C’mon, it’s cold and snowy and early and I’m hungry and I need details to sustain.” 

Ellie juts her chin forwards as she thrusts her gloved hands out in front of her person, “Okay, alright. Hold your horses, Dee. I mean, we’re on duty here so we should _be_ on duty, too, right?” 

Dina rolls her eyes and kicks the tip of her boot at a rickety milkcrate seat, “Ellie. It’s subzero and the horde you and Joel ran into two weeks back hasn’t made its way south to us yet. If we peep a Clicker or its bastard Runner cousin, we snipe. If it’s Hunters, we snipe. If it’s Jack Fucking Frost, we snipe. Please don’t make me beg. I’m too cold for that.” 

The auburn-haired girl snorts before spinning to wade once more into the great unknown. As she opens to speak her salacious truth to the only person who is fully in the know (beyond her and Joel), the radio on her belt begins to crackle. The popping sounds startle the women but instantly redirect their attention. Duty. 

“Tower 4. This is base 1. Come in, over.” 

Ellie grabs the thing and depresses the button, “Hey Logan. Go for Tower 4, over.” 

“Hey Ellie. That caravan should be arriving within the hour. Keep your eyes peeled for any suspicious activity or stragglers that may have trailed them, over.” 

“Death to stragglers. Roger that, over.” 

“Cute. Alert Towers 1 and 2 when you spot them. And radio Maria at the Shack, over.” 

“Roger. Ellie, out.” 

Ellie clips the walkie to her waist while flashing a knowing look at Dina after, “Sounds like an interesting crew coming in. Joel said the weapons trade should be fairly sizable, too. He seemed excited abou–what, _what_ is that look for?” 

Dina cradles Ellie’s chin with hands sheathed in patchy leather and leans in, “Oh, I’m sure you know how Joel is when he’s excited by now…” She speedily frees her arms before Ellie can grab onto them but begins to giggle with a heckling sort of arrogance, “What? Think I didn’t catch you two at church yesterday? You were in a House of God, Ellie. Tsk tsk.” Dina wags a stiff index finger as she eases onto the dingy crate and crosses her legs. 

“Anyway, I refuse to do an ounce of work until you tell me what the hell happened last night. I mean with the post-dance sexy times you barely mumbled a word of and yet it still sounded delicious enough. But now you’re telling me there’s more? Y’all are moving fast but girl, I can keep up. So, silent treatment until you start talking, Willy.” Dina crosses her arms and mimes pulling a zipper across her mouth to match. 

She’s nothing if not performative and Ellie both loves and despises it at this very moment. 

Ellie huffs and rolls her neck, lending herself a moment to massage the stiff muscle there; absentmindedly she retreats into the euphoric mesmerization of soft linen against her bottom and Joel’s calloused hands on her breasts, squeezing and pinching her as he worked her pussy to a quivering state.

She clears her throat and returns to find a pair of brown eyes studying her features with equal parts curiosity and exasperation. Ellie pulls a freezing lungful of air and, “Dee, I–I blew him.”

Dina sucks a lip, clicks her tongue and smirks, “I knew it. And he went down on you, right?” 

Ellie nods. 

The girl with raven-colored hair pops up from her seat and trots to stand beside her friend again; she’s wiry but in that anticipatory way — the kind of excitement that signals just how invested she is and where this is all leading. 

“Tell me everything. I’m serious–I’m tired of the stiff upper lip with your spicy details. When we went scavenging yesterday, you hardly said a word beyond ‘he used his fingers,’ and sure it sounded hot as fuck but that just won’t do here, nuh uh.” Her head sways from one side to the other as she drives her intentions home and stakes her stance. 

Dina Pereria is taking no prisoners on this day. 

Ellie sniffs and suspends a beat or two, mulling over how it felt to have Joel’s tongue inside, around and against her as the girl whined and begged him to let her come. She shivers at that, her exhalation louder than she means for it to be and Dina, of course, immediately makes light of it.

“Oh, come **on** now. I will radio Maria Miller right this second if you don’t star–” 

“It was fucking fantastic, Dee, sheesh. Trying to find the right way to tell it all. I mean...it’s _Joel_ , ya know? I know you know but...it’s, I don’t know...outside of our bubble, it’s hard to say it all so plainly. Fuck, what am I even sa–stop that, knock it off, Dee. You’re incorrigible. ” 

Dina does not in fact stop snickering nor puckering her lips as she mutely pleads for more. 

Eventually, “Exactly. I have so many questions but really, there is no right way to tell this sort of saucy spice. Just open your mouth and share how it all happened. But wait–you were the one to start it, didn’t you? I know you did, you filthy little shit.” 

Ellie titters and scratches the flank of her jawbone, her skin cold to the touch and shaded in a palette of pale pinks and rosy reds; the dry wintry air is doing its utmost to leach the last remaining hints of a hearth that burns within. But oh, Ellie is alight. 

The elements stand little chance against the cavernous inferno that sears inside. 

“Mmhm. I did. It was my first time and I...I seemed to do a good job on him. He enjoyed it. A lot. But when I finished...him, he put me on the kitchen island–shush, I know it’s hot, he’s so fucking hot–and then he just, _Jesus._ I mean he...Dee, he made me beg for it. Thought I was gonna fucking die by the end and he was all smiley and proud. Such a fucking snob.”

Both women laugh at the idea of a man like that acting either snobbish or entitled, especially given the subject matter. Doesn’t fit Joel’s mold and yet… 

“So Mr. Joel Miller is an expert at eating pussy...good to know.” Dina winks but hastily spins to avoid Ellie as she makes to swat the girl. Lewd remarks notwithstanding, Pereria settles and, “No, no, okay seriously though, he knows what he’s doing by the sounds of it?” 

Ellie lines her teeth, shakes her head but relaxes against the rail again, “Fuck, he does. His hands...his mouth and _damn_ , even the things he was saying during. Never knew how filthy he could be and...Dee, I uh–I love it so much.” 

There’s a hoot _and_ a holler from Dina beside her as she celebrates Ellie’s orgasmic win; her eyes are as wide as her smile, as bright, too – she’s happy for her friend and wildly amused by the rousing nature of these intimate reveals. But it does call to mind a very specific vein of questioning. 

“Don’t be offended, alright, but...do you think it has anything to do with the fact that he’s...a bit older? I only ask because it takes Jesse for _ever_ in that regard. Might as well watch a movie sometimes for all the excitement it brings.” 

Ellie snickers and brushes a digit to the end of her nose, swaying as she notices an errant cigarette butt crinkled and forgotten by her best friend’s heel; she’s dreading the next time she sees Jesse as thoughts of his obvious ineptitude will surely surface. Though this is in an area she’s awfully new to...but surmises that worse things have happened. 

“Uh...sorry to hear that? I mean this was my first time though, ya know? With him, yeah, but also...in general. Might not be that great every time.” Ellie peers at her friend through the fine bars of her eyelashes, not fully sold on her argument either but extending a recognition of it all the same. 

Dina smiles and, “Okay but that’s sort of my point. You don’t really know what you like _in that way_ and yet, Joel fucking Miller apparently nailed it. Or well, no, not nailed it but _tongued_ it rather.” 

Ellie reaches for her again, this time landing a playful crack onto the girl’s knee, “Stop saying his name like that, someone’s gonna hear you, I swear. BUT...I don’t know. I mean, the age thing and experience would make sense, I guess. Haven’t ever asked him about that stuff to be honest. Suppose it’s a pretty obvious thing though, huh?” 

The other girl bounces a beat before she rests an elbow on the wooden railing and looks south of her position. There’s a few more townsfolk working and milling about but they remain distant enough that anything discussed in confidence will stay solely between Ellie and Dina alone. 

“I mean, couldn’t hurt to ask him. How many women do you think he’s been with by the way?” 

Ellie doesn’t mind the idea of Joel having a sexual history whatsoever, but the thought to ask him about said history never occurred to her until just now. 

She infers that his exploitations are most assuredly varied and vast but doesn’t view those particular details as need to know, or rather never did prior to this conversation. “I...have no idea. I mean, I assumed he and this woman Tess we once knew had fucked–long story there–but even then, I can’t be super sure. He’s always been super private in a lot of ways. Even with me.” 

Dina listens and mulls, imbibing Ellie’s information while concurrently trying to link it to their present and future, “Well, if he fucks as good as he licks, consider me a jealous bitch, El.” 

Ellie laughs a loud and spirited laugh as she shifts to peer into an endless array of cloud-white and icy-blue; the globe is frigid and frozen all around and yet she’s never felt as warm as she does now. Well, no. She was far toastier in the embrace of her rough Texan man a little while ago, but given her locale, this sensation is a close second. 

“Dina, can I ask you something? Seriously…” 

Pereria leans her bulk against Ellie’s shoulder and sets her chin atop a jacketed blade, “Always.” 

“How did you know you were in love with Jesse?”

With eyes as black as the dark side of the moon, Dina bites her lower lip and lists forwards a measure more – she wants to glimpse the glassy green of Ellie’s ocean eyes as she, “You’re in love with him already, aren’t you?” 

Ellie’s reply arrives sedately as she lays her temple against her best friend’s forehead, “I asked about you first.” 

“Ugh, there you go, being a thorn in my fine ass again and ruining the moment. Well, hmm. I suppose it’s simple, yeah? I just like being around him. In our good times, obviously. When we’re on and not off. It makes me happy to think about him, to be with and near him. To spend time and such. I don’t know, it’s one of life’s unanswerable mysteries. Now, spill, Ellie. Or that itchy radio finger that knows the direct line to Mrs. Miller will get _scratched_.” 

They don’t shift or change from the close proximity they’re sharing, instead, Dina leverages herself closer and loops an arm through Ellie’s as they stare aimlessly ahead. The silence stretches on, consuming the tempering stillness that surrounds them. 

Ellie suspires and sniffs, shoring up for the deluge that’s pouring in at the mere mention of Joel and Being In Love. Her chest tightens and lightens in tandem, her pupils dilate, her blood pumps at fervent pace that’s much too quick for the current state she’s in; the way her body behaves without the use of a single utterance is equally spellbinding and mesmerizing and Ellie will never draw enough from it. She will never tire or want less of this. 

“Joel...makes me feel whole. Like, I don’t know, I was born with this giant missing piece, right? As though there’s always been this...part of me I’ve never had. And he makes that go away. He sees me, too. He sees who I am and seems to love me more because of it. He takes care of me and I know, Dina, I know things between him and I have not always been this way. They couldn’t have been this way, not from the start. So obviously it was a lot different a few years ago and then we were...separated but now–this. I just–I would do anything for him, I know it. I would give anything and go to the ends of the earth if it meant having Joel in some capacity. And I know he would do the same for me– _has_ done it for me. And– _what_ , what did I say now? Why–are you okay?” 

Dina drags a finger to the outer-edge of an eye, “Well, you have your vows written already, I see.” 

Ellie snorts and turns, breaking their union but the distance between the women remains, “Maybe. I just know I want... _fuck_. Dina, I want everything with him. Things I never wanted before. Things that scare the piss outta me.” 

The other girl steps away and peers across the wide range of a world that’s brought them to this exact point and, “Well, we went from you sucking cock to a not so subtle hint of marriage real quick here, El. You really mean it all though, don’t you?” 

“I do. No pun intended.” 

Dina grumbles but chortles all the same, her inky eyes glimmering like tiny, infinitesimal stars – stars that are catching the last flickers of a struggling sun amidst an overcast cosmos, “You know I support you and him and this whole thing. Have since I started sniffing it all out a couple weeks ago and cleverly walked you into revealing it. But I do have a question–a _but_ , if you will…” 

“His age?” 

“His age.” 

Ellie shrugs and allows her head to tilt on its axis as she considers her girlfriend’s sincerity and justifiable concerns; they’re there, despite the girl not coming right out and saying as such. Williams can see and Dina knows she’s understood. Exposition is needless between these two women. 

“Before I make it crystal clear, in what way does his age affect your opinion on things?” 

The girl mulls on the logic of this question before bringing both palms to her lips and trying to warm them in kind. After a few ponderous moments and a whole lot of appendage resuscitation, “You want it all so I’m guessing that means there will be another Mrs. Miller in town – albeit a far sexier one, but don’t tell Maria I said that. I mean, she’s fine, too but yeah, sorry, got distracted there for a second. So… You want kids, too? And if so...aren’t you worried that...ya know, I mean-” 

“That he won’t be around as long as me or our children would want him to be because he’s so much older?” 

“Exactly that. It’d kill me to see you go through losing him, Ellie.” 

There’s a pause, an inflamed silence that erupts in the space lingering from one girl to the next; it charges the air with ideations of loss and grief and yet, there’s a permanence to it just the same. Ellie has come to understand precisely how to navigate the notions Dina’s putting forth, regardless that these limitations are wildly untested and untried. 

She pads and grasps the place where the moth in her tattoo lies beneath layers of seasonal outerwear before, “Nothing is guaranteed, Dee. Not for you or me or anyone. Not tomorrow, hell not even tonight. So yeah, Joel’s fifty-two. I’ll be twenty next May and he’ll be fifty-three in September. We could get thirty fucking years, maybe forty if I fuck him every night and give him enough babies to keep him sharp all the live-long years. But what it comes down to is pretty simple, I think. I’m willing to do it. I’m willing to risk it all. I don’t want to be without him, even if it means I may be at one point. But who knows, I could die next year and then where would we be?” 

Dina returns to the crate and covers her mouth, only this time it’s resultant of the resolve that exists and is abundantly suffusing the declarations of her friend. Ellie is not one to lie and she isn’t right now. 

“That was really beautiful before it got all grim at the end there, Jesus. But...you’re right. You and I could blow this tower up, being that we are experts at everything. Or shit, that caravan coming in could take us all out.” She ceases her morbid diatribe and closes her eyes, inhaling a crisp pull of glacially-chilly air before continuing: “I’m here for you. Both of you. Whatever I can do, however I can help. Which...I have another question in that regard.” 

“Go.” 

“Does anyone else know outside of me?” 

Ellie vacillates a moment, raises her brows and, “I don’t know how but...Tommy actually knows.” 

Pereria jumps at that and grabs the sides of Ellie’s arm, “Are you fucking serious? What’d he say? Is he okay with it? Does Maria know?” 

Ellie lifts her limbs to cradle Dina’s elbows as she attempts to ride this brash change of her girl’s demeanor. “Um...whoa, slow down. Let me see...yes, I’m fucking serious. No, he didn’t say anything, not really. It was more of a gesture and I’ll get to that but I know he knows, trust me. And he seems good with it. Happy even? Not sure Maria is in the know though. And Joel doesn’t know that he knows OR that you know. I should probably tell him that, huh…” 

“Uh, yeah, I think he has every right to know at this point. Especially since y’all are clearly in love already and doing dickall to hide it. Does he have anyone that knows? I mean, you have me to talk to about all of this and now Tommy, possibly. Who does Joel have?” 

Ellie considers the inquiry – a point of province she’s yet to take stock of until its presentation here – and senses a swell of sadness at the mere idea that Joel likely doesn’t have anyone. 

“Apart from me, no, but you’re right. He needs an outlet. God only knows what goes through that handsome head of his on a regular basis and now he’s shacking up with a hot mess like me. Feel sorry for him now, to be honest.” 

Dina grins, “You’re both pretty hot, not gonna lie. And now that I know he’s got the _skillz_ to pay those O-bills, you’ve got me wondering about things.” 

“About...Joel?” 

“No, about older men in general. Joel’s clearly yours, woman. Besides, he only has hearteyes for your skinny ass. Believe me, I see it whenever you two are in radius of one another. It’s annoying already, to be honest.” A beat, a pause, “...Kiddinggg.” 

“Ha freaking ha. Hilarious. Next week at comedy night you should give the good folks of Jackson your very best. I’m sure you’ll _kill_.” 

Dina perks up at that and brushes the tail of her pony off of one shoulder, “I love having the support of my best friend. Dreams are important, ya know.” 

Ellie’s snorts and, “Truer words have seldom been spoken aloud.” 

“You nerd.” 

“You love it.” 

“Unfortunately, I do.” Dina winks afterwards just as the radio hisses again. 

Ellie retrieves the thing, “Go for Tower 4. This is Ellie.” 

“Hey Ellie. Did Liam drop by yet, over.” 

Ellie looks from the handheld shortwave to Dina and tucks her chin in, confusion mounting as they try to quietly discern what the hell Logan is going on about. 

Liam is Bison-duty only. There’s no reason he would visit the towers beyond that of leisure or a friendly visit. 

“Liam was never here. Was he supposed to stop by for something, over.” 

There’s an orchestra of pops, fizzles and dead air as the man on the other line double checks his inventory without signaling the women. 

Then, “Yep. Stopped by with breakfast and offered to bring extra boxes of .30-30’s to Towers 3 and 4. And four boxes were taken. A safeguard in case our temporary guests get any grand ideas, over.” 

Ellie shrugs, “We haven’t seen him. Extra ammo is always good though. Appreciate it, over.” 

“I’ll see what’s what and report back when I can. In the meantime, scopes on Tower 6 have the caravan approaching. Can you confirm, over.” 

“Hold, over.” 

Ellie hands the device to Dina and retrieves her Winchester from where it’s sat the last half hour or so. She raises the weapon, levels the sight onto the bend in the road and begins to scan the terrain. There’s nothing yet, no caravan, no lead scouts or life of any kind to speak of. Not even a damn deer. 

She frowns but not from dismay – Ellie isn’t clocking anything in the distance but the stock scope on her aging firearm is lending her no favors either. 

Dina depresses the button and, “Hey Logan, Dina here. Nothing up ahead for us. But Ellie’s scope sucks. We’ll keep checking and report soon as we see anything. How big is this caravan supposed to be, over.” 

“Hey Dee. Fairly large, if the lead contact is to be believed. Lots of fire power incoming so we want to play it safe. Let me know if Liam ever turns up, over.” 

“Roger that. Tower 4 out.” 

Dina places the walkie onto the crate and twirls on her heels to face Ellie, “I didn’t notice Liam, did you?” 

Ellie chews on her bottom lip, “Fucking no, but we weren’t exactly paying attention the whole time, now were we?” 

The other girl steps forward and enfolds a hand around Ellie’s forearm, “I know what’s going through your head. Don’t do that to yourself. He likely never came up yet, okay? Nothing to be afraid of.” 

Ellie fidgets with a fraying leather tie that’s dangling off of her coat’s zipper; the girl fusses with the thing as she worries her bottom lip, an overwhelm of anxiety gnawing at her bones one bit of marrow at a time. 

“Dee, I don’t want Liam to know about Joel and me. Not yet, at least. Not that I don’t trust him but…”

“You don’t trust him. I get it. Stop worrying. We didn’t see or hear anyone approaching. Not even footsteps on the ladder. C’mon, he’s not some stealth ninja dude and we’re not THAT bad at our jobs. At least I’m not.”

Dina tosses a wink and blithely pushes the girl after, trying to distract and set her friend’s mind at ease. 

“True. Still, I don’t like it.” 

“Are you afraid of the town finding out?”

Ellie steals a minute, then another as she contemplates the question. She turns it over and churns it up, pulling it apart, dissecting the pertinence every which way while examining its most basic components. 

She’s in love with Joel.  
She only wants Joel.  
She wants to have everything with Joel. 

“No, not afraid. But this isn’t something we’ve talked about. Like, at all. I guess I’d like to know where he’s at with it first. I’m sure there will be some folks none too happy about it or, I don’t know, judgey. Don’t want that at all let alone this early into things.”

The girl with mossy eyes and cherry lips recollects a specific memory from the Hoedown – with Liam, no less – and cringes inwardly. Her stomach roils and rejects the notion, working expeditiously to expel the distaste of it all. Still, it persists. 

There’s a very real probability that some members of the town, or those familiar with them in the least, view Joel’s relationship with Ellie as patriarchal. Most folks assume, they don’t ask. It’s usually the way of things.

She doesn’t like it but understands – outward appearances can certainly be deceivingly misleading – but there’s a sizable sect of her that is merely ill-prepared for a backlash of that kind. Not yet, anyhow. 

Perhaps that’s the reason neither her nor Joel have spoken much in respect to this...time sensitive issue. 

“Ellie?” 

“Hmm? Sorry.”

“Lost in thought, huh? And about someone tall, dark and handsome, again. You’re hopeless.” 

With a mirthful smirk and a descension of her jade gaze, she eyes the rifle in her steely grip, unseals her lips and, “Guess I’m hopelessly doomed for all eternity then.” 

“Seems so. And screw Liam Brooks if he eavesdropped and decides to kick up any dust. None of this is his business and he’ll have you _and_ Joel to contend with if he tries any bullshit. Me and Tommy, too, supposedly.” 

Ellie chuffs and walks a few paces away, her line of sight and acuity wholly apart from the horizon now. She’s staring at the open rectangle at the opposite end of the tower and wondering anxiously whether or not Brooks did stop by. As he intended on doing, unbeknownst to anyone beyond Logan. 

Communication clearly needs improving within the purview of pop-in guests. 

_’Nope, can’t worry about that. Think of Joel and his naked ass from this morning. And biting said naked ass. Yeah, forget Liam. There’s just Joel and that bitten booty of his.’_

††††

Liam posts himself up against a support beam by the base of Tower 4’s ladder. He holds a box of ammo in each hand, his grasp tight and rigid as he reels from the fervor that’s ratting from tip to toe. His mind is awhirl, thoughts and emotions aghast amidst the revelations he’s unmistakably unearthed here today.

_“Maybe. I just know I want... _fuck_. Dina, I want everything with him. Things I never wanted before. Things that scare the piss outta me.”_

Ellie was talking about Joel. About wanting everything – a life, a marriage, even children – with Joel fucking Miller. Liam’s always believed the old man to be her father, or at the very least, a fatherly figure in the girl’s life. Until she corrected his assumptions and set the record straight – at least insofar as fact versus fiction. 

Though he knows this, it’s tough to divide his opinion on the matter; after overhearing Dina and the girl talk, he senses within himself an unforeseen level of loss. Of what he’s not entirely certain, but it feels and reads like a departure. 

Dredging their conversation and her comments from the meager time spent together at the Hoedown – as well as the abrupt shift of her energy – it’s clearer to Liam why she reacted the way she did and said what she said. Explains away her hesitancy to even dance with him at the start.. 

They’ve been hiding it, that much he’s deducing. And now he has proof, should evidence be of substantial circumstance at some point. 

But he doesn’t want to be vindictive, doesn’t want to hurt her or risk her reputation on account of his...envy. 

The young man pitches forward and enlists a modicum of momentum to return from whence he came; he’ll drop the ammo with Logan and take the short trek back to work from there. He’ll do his job and mind his own. 

Or, that was the plan. 

A few paces out from Base 1 he halts: Joel is standing by the open door, chatting with Logan and blissfully unaware that his dirty little secret has looped in another. 

_’ **She** doesn’t deserve to be hurt. Walk away, just walk away.’_

Liam reacts to his conscience, making a redirect towards the Tipsy Bison at the last feasible second. 

Almost. 

He’s unceremoniously stopped when Logan notices him and signals for his attention. 

“Hang on, Miller. Hey Liam, did you ever make it to Tower 4 to drop the additional rounds with Williams and Pereria yet? I just radioed and they said they didn’t see you.” 

Liam spins, his work boot sculpting a pockmarked sphere into the mud and slush below him, “Uh, no. Got sidetracked. Dropped Ben and Cedric’s boxes though. Was just coming here to return the others. Ran outta time. Gotta get back to work.” 

Liam glimpses Joel angle to one side and lean against the door frame, his bulk sizable even from this distance. There’s not necessarily ire or resentment towards the man, but there’s certainly _something_ that’s begging to gnaw at the guy. Surprise, dismay...perhaps jealousy, too. Most likely the last. Still, these are emotions best left to page through on his own versus in the presence of the lone party causing them. 

“Oh, no problem.” 

Liam steps forward and extends his hand with the stash stacked one atop the other but before Logan has a chance to retrieve them, Joel clears his throat. 

“I can take ‘em to the girls. Have a few minutes to spare before I gotta get to the armory.” 

Liam pulls his arm away at that, an instinctive move but an action he wasn’t intending on, “Oh, ugh, yeah. Thanks, Mr. Miller.” 

Logan pat-claps Joel on the shoulder and nods as he bends – and thus groans – into the chair that time most assuredly forgot. “It’s settled then. Thanks Brooks. And Joel, you’re on Tower 1 Wednesday and Thursday morning. Friday you’re off for Christmas Eve. And hey, appreciate you stopping by. Needed to make those shift adjustments because of the two kids that hightailed it out of Jackson a few weeks back.” 

Joel bobs in acknowledgment, clicks his tongue and levels his gaze onto the third man in their company, “I’ll tell ‘em ya got hung up, alright?”

The younger guy steals a semi-nervous glance to the pathway beside their current position while actively avoiding Joel’s weighty stare. He won’t be able to placate for much longer though, and the silence is getting exceedingly awkward. 

“Uh, I sure did.” Liam borrows another moment of quiet as he lifts his blues and deadpans the older man, “But hey, tell Ellie I said hello? Sorry to have missed her today.” 

Joel squints just enough that it’s noticeable but collects the supply nevertheless and forces a half-smile, “Will do, son. You take care now.” 

Liam takes a single step out of the way as Joel brushes past on his short journey towards the tower; it takes everything in Brooks not to shout at the man – he wants to expose their truth, wants to threaten the very nature of their union. 

But he won’t. That’s not who he is. 

He’ll lick his wounds, mind his tongue and manage his pride as best he’s able. The town will discover the affair one day, but Liam has no need or want to be the cause or catalyst. 

No, Brooks will wait patiently in the nosebleeds and watch as the universe collapses around them. And then he’ll be a shoulder for the girl to lean on.

††††

“You Manuel? Ms. M said that’s who I need’a speak to.”

The other nods in acknowledgement and shifts his stance, regarding the man and the others standing on either side of him. Silently calculating, observing and memorizing the features and terse outward displays of those before him. 

“That I am. And it’s Manny, please. You’re the armory contact? Or contacts, rather. The guards at the gate told me I’d find you over here. The weapons cache is up in the holding bay so if you wanna go see what we’re looking to trade, I’d be happy as a clam to get that going. Been a long ride from Seattle to here.” Manny rubs the rear of his neck as he showcases his fatigue and waits on a loose command from the big guy in front of him. 

“I reckon. Alright, let’s have a look. Y’all wait here? My brother an’ me will go an’ get this deal goin’.” 

Pastor Pedro and Jesse incline in concessive unison while leaning against the shack as they feign settling in. They’re not at the armory – only residents are privy to the exact location of that site – but rather one of the many outposts that are scattered throughout the town. This particular shack is more of a weigh station than anything noteworthy or revealing. Chosen for its plaintive nature and out-of-the-way moorings within the safety of the community’s walls. 

This is a standard practice, as it minimizes the chance of outsiders gleaning too much information to thus turn and use it against Jackson’s best interests.

“Sounds good to me, Chief. Speaking of, didn’t catch your names?” 

Joel instantly recognizes the subtle attempt at data mining here and adjusts his position in a hushed repose, “Didn’t say, partner.” 

Manny mimics Joel’s tense hesitancy before lowering his shoulders in mock-surrender – he’s marked the terse tone but relaxes into himself versus risking anything untoward. With that, he’s able to defuse an obvious detonator with his subordinate actions and, “Fair is fair. I get it.” 

After, there’s a momentary spell of silence cast upon the trio as they amble towards the front of town and the sole reason for this guests visit. 

Manny is first to sever the curt, bellicose quiet with: “So this cache is the compilation of roughly six months worth of work with smaller settlements along the west coast. Since we’re more of a military operation in Seattle these days, we don't need a bloated stockpile of smaller caliber firearms and such. So, we’ve been collecting this reserve for a while. Traded some of it off here and there but the bulk is still pretty sizable, all things considered. Hopefully you find something in there, something that tickles those trigger fingers, fellas.” 

Joel and Tommy bob as they stride alongside the man, their hands digging into the fur lined warmth of their coat pockets, though never too far from their sidearms. 

Joel grumbles as a dull, subdued ache begins to throb in his right knee; it’s another day of winter, another day of cold bones and blustery winds. 

Tommy finally chimes in, filling the space with his own learned intellect and distracting his older brother’s inner plight. Intentionally so on the first part, unintentionally on that second. 

“Sounds like y’all got an installation’a sorts out there? Reading you’ve got the numbers, huh?” 

Manny smiles wide and laughs, “Yep. Ran Fedra into the ground a while back, too. Co-opted their supplies and their soldiers – well, whoever decided to defect anyway.” 

“Mm, an’ what became of those that didn’t join the...what was it again? The WLF?” Joel piques, studying the profile of this newcomer; he’s rigidly tentative and distrustful of unknown folk – regardless of any justifiable reasons or their admittance into town. It’s just his way. 

“WLF, yes sir. And hey, we all make decisions in this life, don’t we?” He grins again, but the Miller brothers catch that it doesn’t quite reach the man’s dark eyes. They discern it’s either a tell to his struggle in the same shattered world as theirs or perhaps a signal warning of some other type. Either way, Joel and Tommy flick their eyes between one another before continuing on. 

“Anyway, here we go.” 

Joel stands by the intake bay – a brick and stone structure with weighty doors and armed men and women guarding its exits. He clicks his tongue at the man on the left and points to the entrance, “Hey T, here with Manuel – pardon, Manny – to see ‘bout that stash in there.” 

T, short for Travis – though Joel never uses full names in the presence of outsiders – steps aside, unlatches the bolt and swings the doors wide. 

“Have at it, boss.”

“Thank ya, sir. Keep an eye out.” Tommy pats the man on an arm as they enter and behold the potential bounty laid out before them. 

As Joel trails Tommy into the semi-expansive hold, Manny hangs back a beat, giving his contacts time to marvel at the plethora awaiting them. He stretches his arms, pops his knuckles and rolls his neck as the sibling’s eyes go saucer-wide with surprise. 

“Y’all gotta be shittin’ me. This is an impressive stockpile, Manny. What’re ya lookin’ to barter for this? Or even half’a it?” 

Joel rubs a sheathed hand up and down on his beard as he clocks rifles, pistols, revolvers, shotguns, automatic and semi-automatic firearms in a wide range, along with stocks, scopes, clips, cartridges and more. All of it appears far newer than not and for in the years this apocalypse has been raging, neither of the men have ever borne witness to such a cohesive collection as this. 

Least not outside of the quarantine zones in those early days and certainly not as near to it as they are now; those payloads were protected by the threat of imminent death to all those who dared approach. 

Fireflies used to bomb the hell out of them, or rather did, when they rose in power enough to constitute a significant peril to the military. 

In any case, the brothers are…elated. Still, Jackson doesn’t necessarily need much in the way of ammunition or _this_ level of stock but having the bigger stick is always the better play in an existence like theirs. 

_’Ellie could use a new long-range rifle with a proper scope, too.’_

“So?”

Manny perks at that and shrugs noncommittally, “Looking to stay for a little while.”

Tommy furrows his light browline and, “For what? A quarter of the load? Half? Need specifics here, pal.” 

The man takes a step towards the others and places a palm atop the enormous offering, “My men and I – the ones I have left anyway – are offering all of it for a couple weeks stay. Maybe a month. Eventually we do gotta report back to Seattle and our command but we’ve been on the road for most of the year and have taken too many losses. So, the whole goddamn thing is yours if we can get some much needed R&R in lovely Jacksontown.” 

Joel gestures for Tommy to take the lead on the unexpected inquest, and the younger man does his best at diplomacy, “Well, I’ll need’a consult a few folks first. We got a small place on the outskirts y’all can hitch to for the time bein’. But it might take a day or so. How many bodies ya got with you?” 

Manny crosses both arms to his chest and bobs a beat, “Four bodies plus three steeds. Myself, Danny, Owen and Mel. She’s one of our medics. She’d be happy to help out where need be. And you can put the rest of us to work while we’re here, too. If we can stay, that is.” 

The brothers nod and Joel ushers for Manny and Tommy to exit as he brings up the rear. 

Once outside, Joel secures the swing-latch on the heavy leaden entrance and turns to face his brother and Manny directly, “Alright, I gotta get. Hang here an’ we’ll send an escort for you an’ your party. Good meetin’ ya. Hopefully it’ll work out for all’a us.” 

Joel shakes the man’s hand, as does Tommy and the brothers set off in separate directions – Tommy on his way to Maria and the council, and Joel back to the Pastor and Jesse to bring them up to date. 

As Manny watches the men leave, his false smile fractures, fading into a shadowy display of suspicion and simmering ire. No one can see this as it happens – no one will ever know. At least not until it’s too late.

††††

“Ellie – order up!”

The girl slinks through tables and groups of people as she rushes the bar on her quest. The Bison doesn’t typically fulfill private petitions for “take out,” or whatever Joel called it from the olden days, but Liam’s made an exception. For her, of course. Or, mostly for her.

As Ellie reaches to retrieve her food, Liam retracts his proffered arm and, “You better remember who took care of you on Christmas _damn_ Eve, girl. A wholeass meal made to order, just for you to take it and run. Such an abuse of power, Williams.” Liam angles forward again after the mini hostage negotiation, his blues moody but as mirthful and bright as she’s ever seen them. 

There’s also a wobbling pair of reindeer antlers atop his dark hair, courtesy of _Cara’s Collections_ – all employees of Jackson are wearing them today and tomorrow. So, as Liam shifts and speaks, he emphasizes the jovial presence of them with performative head bobbles to show the stark severity behind his puckish rhetoric. 

Ellie rolls her eyes while amplifying an exasperated sigh, “Yeah, yeah. I really put you out on this one. Promise I’ll make it up at _Khristmas Karaoke_ tonight. You can choose any song and I...I will humbly sing it. And...I realize now that I’ve set myself up for utter humiliation but hey, a girl knows when to fold ‘em.” 

She clutches onto the brown sack with both of her hands, noting the aromatic scent that’s permeating through the canvas fabric; included are two chicken pot pies with an ample side of garlic asparagus to boot. It’s a perfect repast for the holidays but more than that, it was once a tradition shared between Joel and Ellie every Christmas Eve. 

It was an annual festive meal before she broke and ceased this and all the others a couple years ago. The girl doesn’t want to risk bleeding that vein though – the past is a dry and abrasive wasteland in comparison to her present – its taste like ashen embers on her tongue, should we allow it to linger. If she dares to dither, the loss is strangling and takes more than she’s willing to offer anymore. 

Besides, it’s far more thrilling to know that this – what she’s doing today – is a thing that Joel is none the wiser about; she’s returning parts of their good days to the here and now, modernizing it to the changes of their relationship. Ellie’s going that extra length for him. Because of course she will. 

“Ohhh, you’re in for it for now, Williams. I know _just_ the song, and no, don’t ask because I won’t say. Even under threat of death. But hey, enjoy the spread and Merry early Christmas. See ya later.” 

She pulls the food close to her person, tossing a grateful smile to her friend as she bounds from the establishment; ready to get home, ready to dive face first into a pot pie and Joel’s balls. 

“See you!”

††††

The walk is minuscule but the windchill is punishingly arctic and Ellie does her utmost to keep the cold from seeping into the porous threads of her lagniappe. She’s alone but reveling in the excitement of what today might and will inevitably bring; there’s the surprise meal she’s on the cusp of delivering, a small gift exchange between her and Joel after and then karaoke with him and the rest of the town later on in the evening.

Her heart is brimming by an overflow of emotion as her body sings to the tune of a seasonal cheer that’s whirling all around. 

_’Well, that and being maddeningly in love with the hottest man on earth…’_

She smiles as winter begins to vanish and all the world becomes summer to the girl. Ellie pushes the town and all of its imperceptible points of light away, pushes the sensations of it and all the rest as far down as she can manage as she steps lightly into the path ahead of her; she knows the way by heart. 

In the chasmic resonance she’s invoking, the girl allows herself the moment. She’s imagining fields of green and yellow with rising stalks that reach reach reach towards an azure sky above their soft peaks. As the reeds swaye, dance and brush into one another...they tickle the tiny hands and soft cheeks of a little boy who’s running with abandon into the plume.

His dark hair is wavy with delicate loops curling at its ends, his eyes the color of the sea; the boy’s smile is _his_ , so very his that Ellie wants to scoop the toddler up and kiss every crinkle on his chubby face until her lips go numb. 

She breathes in as the distant laughter of another calls her attention elsewhere; she spins in an endless vibrancy of wheat and its sensational warmth, her vision searching onward and outward. Finally, she glimpses the girl amongst the waves of gold but laughs serenely at the sight: This wee one is wobbly, far more wobbly than the other and yet Ellie remembers the echoing image of her just the same. That shiny black hair and those piercing green eyes, her sturdy frame and the silliest, goofiest grin – familiar and yet unknown just the same. 

_’Not yet, little ones. Not yet.’_

“Ellie?” 

The girl snaps-to at the sound of Joel’s voice – he’s leaning over the railing on the front porch, watching her with an expression that’s part way curious and halfway entertained. 

“Ya okay, girl? Been walkin’ at a snail’s pace. Gonna freeze if you don’t get that cute butt’a yours inside soon.” He stepped outside a few minutes ago, wondering if his girl was held up at the Bison or if the weather took a turn and something went awry. That’s when he noticed her strolling along the road as if it weren’t 18º outside with another blizzard on the horizon. 

Joel loosens his grip on the wooden rail and releases as she crests the top stair and turns towards him; with the middle bow of her lower lip tucking in behind her front teeth, Ellie snorts and raises an eyebrow, “And once again, you and my ass…” 

He takes the bag from her arms and nods towards the front door, “What can I say? It don’t quit. I can’t be blamed for that. But c’mon now. Get in, get warm. An’ whaddya got here?” 

Joel treks ahead of Ellie as she loiters by the front door and removes her winter gear and shimmies her snow-damp mess of auburn for a spell. She calls after him with a quick and bossy, “Don’t open it yet! Wait for me, you nosy butt.” 

The man tilts out of the kitchen entrance way at that and winks, “An’ here I thought ya liked my nose near your butt…” 

The girl laughs and pitches her head to the rear in mock surrender, her mouth falling open as she stares at the ceiling, “Touché, Joel.” 

Once the playful feigning concludes, she jogs to the kitchen and sees her better half handling a pair of plates, utensils and cups from the cabinets; of course he can smell that it’s food, whatever it is, but because of her unforeseen fantasy in the snowy streets of Jackson, he’s gone ravenous. It’s well beyond breakfast and neither of them have yet to eat – unusually atypical of their morning routines. Especially his. 

“So...any guesses?” She bends forward, resting her chin into the bowl of her palms as she tap-taps her cheeks. 

He sets their dishes aside on the island and squints at the canvas sack on the counter, “Well, it’s bigger than the gingerbread bag from Tommy, but I ain’t too sure, Red.” 

“Well, it’s not a Christmas gift per se but it is a Christmas _thing_.” 

He purses his lips, rubs his hands together and leans in, “Hmm...I am well an’ truly stumped, girl.” 

“Open it.” 

He does. 

Joel’s chin falls inward as his head bobs and bounces a beat – he understands the gesture and instantaneously processes its meaningfulness. The impact is immense but beautiful in every way she’s intending for it to be; he swallows and raises to look at her, “Our meal.” 

A sniff, a swift swipe at the base of her frost-tipped nose and, “ _Our_ meal.” 

The man rounds the bend and wraps his arms around her waist, spinning the girl in his embrace; he brings her closer to his person – as seamless as they can manage – and they just _hug_ one another. They hold on and grip grab and squeeze at various parts in varying degrees of pressure. 

Against his chest, she whispers, “Merry Christmas, part one.” 

He angles just enough from the girl to see her, placing a hand to her throat as a thumb ghosts across her windswept lips, chin and cheek, “Love you, baby.” 

“I love you, Joel.” 

He gently presses his lips to hers, breaks and, “Can I give ya one’a my gifts now?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lordt above. This chapter was supposed to have a LOT more content to it – but I sacrificed some Joellie spice for plot (oh god I'm sorry forgive me). That said, I cannot wait to start on 16 (I already have but shhh, I didn't say that) because Christmas is going to bring a lot more than just tidings of joy ahemcoughahem. But As ALWAYS, thank you. My f*cking wow – I am always humbled by the outpouring of kind words, messages and love shown to this story. I am grateful, truly and wholly grateful to every single person reading this. And to my disc loves – I swear, each of you are changing my life in the very best of ways. Thank you. x 
> 
> Let's do the notes thing, yes?  
> • Ellie really said #LetJoelGetSucked, didn't she? Bit brazen for her first time but something tells me her boundless attraction for a certain someone is to blame here.  
> • Dina & Ellie, together again! And yes, yes, talking of Joel BUT with a bit of Jesse thrown in there for good measure (sorry Jesse, need more miles on your engine, I suspect) but phew...girl knows a whole lot now, doesn't she?  
> • Liam. Oh, Liam. We've got our eyes on you, _son._  
>  • Okay, listen, the WLF crew will forever and always have my hate and ire but unfortunately, they are a part of this tale and so, introductions had to happen and motions needed to be set in order. But Manny, I swear, I'm coming for you, bish.  
> • Time jump! It's Christmas Eve...and a special tradition has returned – I need a potpie now, tyvm.  
> • She. Finally. Said it.  
> • And I do wonder what gift Joel has in mind? 
> 
> And that's it for **Chapter 15.**
> 
> Thank you for hanging in, for the love, attention (in a pandemic world, this goes a LONG flipping way) and being a part of this journey. I am happily indebted. Until the next, stay safe. xx


End file.
